.5 







(1 


A 



% 


s 

i 



I 


k *. \ 


1 # 

, • f 

* t t > 



















• V 




I • 







« 

•« 


>• 

r> 

k 


t 

« ' 

i 

%’ . 


✓ 




f 


\ 


% 


» 


t 


4 . 


r 


% * 




« 





% 





' '. i 



t 


, ^ 






« ^ 




1 ^ 






f 


r-^'->i>fc1 • 

X,- r 




^•?ff '^V- ■- ‘ ‘ -x^l'’*' - ,. .' ^v ^ ^ 

• i-^t_ • • . ”*■'/' \jK^ fc-*A-. • ^ • ‘^ • «. ^ «s - ■•* 4 • 

- ■ ". .- •'•^• •.- • .t -'r^l, -• .*> •< r- ■•- 

- w?- . • _ _ ' w,^; . - - V ^ :. .■ 

t" * ' • ' ' A— .>'t.-- —w- — 


-\ 


^ •■ ■ *^.J,:- ,' . • 

■ V .*..*: 

* / i-« » 1 ’ 




>< • , i- •^.. , s.«/t ^ 

- -.1 • *■. ' s “•• 


•- ‘*^ * ^ ■ • • "Kv '*■'*'' — ■* 

. '■••-. ■ ‘ : ■ -•■ •. • ' -• •■rv-.-'^Z.- '-^ - .' 

jJ Xj' ' '' ■ . . . -r '*f^’*‘-*"‘ - ■' - .;■’ '*■■. . ? 

;■ ■ ■ ’ ■ 

*r I * •, * ‘ • ^ . . t ^■^'i ^ 



•t • 














•,:K 


^►* . i* 


»j . 




^ - -T 4 «. • IT ■ » 


- » 


-% '• IG*^ C • 


4 » '■ ' -V ^ ' 

V- .^■: , 


'./H. 



« ^ 










>s •:- 5 ^V* X -.rrir' \- - ’ • jVp> "5ai5i?'^ • 

^ ';-i!«’> .' ’ •■' .i'- 

^ ■» t.-t yt^Sti 


























THE BOY EMIGRANTS 


By Noah brooks. 


FIRST ACROSS THE CONTINENT. A 
Concise Story of the Lewis and Clark 
Expedition in 1802-4. Illustrated. 

8vo, net $1.50. 

LEM : A New England Village Boy. Illustrated. 

12mo, net. ...... 1.00. 

THE BOY SETTLERS. Illustrated. 12mo. 1.25. 

THE BOY EMIGRANTS. Illustrated. 12mo. 1.25. 

THE FAIRPORT NINE. Illustrated. 12mo. 1.25. 

TALES OF THE MAINE COAST. 16mo. 1.00. 

SHORT STUDIES IN PARTY POLITICS. 

With 27 portraits. 12mo, . . . 1.25. 

HOW THE REPUBLIC IS GOVERNED. 

16mo, net 75. 


STATESMEN. Illustrated. {Men of 
Achievement.) 12mo, 


1.50. 


THE MEDITERRANEAN TRIP. Guide-book, 
with 24 full-page Illustrations and maps. 

12mo, net 1.25. 





* * ' 


• r »■. " . 




M* t 




.« • 

«» 




F 



7 .•'^ ^■■*1’ * *' 

\ '. .■- 'V. '“V--** 

V" • 




"r ’ ' 

^ 7VW. 


#- 

« ■*• 


I 


VI 



i?Vt. 





1 r, ■■• 


^ A ^ ‘ 


^M: 

IV 


^ ‘ ^ / >* 

4.-'- . '■■• * ‘t"" c a - 

■"•>' • - ' f*- it 



v>\ y 


'■f 




il 

'-^: ^ . - 




., _ .-^w » V >9 

- icr^ 




-jr <-C' 

v: It?.^* ^•?‘-:' - .':; 

^ - *r • , « s » ■ 

/V? ..vV^fjJjL^ 

' .X 


^i: 


T ' ■ : 





. * ' *V *■ 

1 ^ 


X- 



• t 


■ , > ^ ^ ^ M ^ » * 

•• ^Jf** 


y‘' r 

4. ■ % *»•■ ^ ^ #"t •• 

;.- .-A.. . .... 


>■•. ,> » , • ..Tl 

.* -^>, -. ■- 

. r • > .4^ - . ‘X* 




* •» 








- v K* V 

\ *■ */' ’ . *■ ■ • 


■ *" 

- - T T* V* 

* ft i 

V ^ 

j r . * 

^ ' V. “ • * 

' . • 

«■•» r* * 

«> I • 4ft 

• ^ ^ ' 

• • •" ftS •' 

4 . 

* , 

v' - - ^ ^ 

>lt«' 

• 

’ ’. it %, 

.4 i ^ t * ' • 

Ji 

’ » 

■' *. I - 


i* _ *!*. €• M 


- » • Jr . • 




TiiK UOYS WATCH TU>: jeTKANGE EIGUUE 


Page^ 279 



THE 


BOY EMIGRANTS 


NOAH BROOKS 


IVitb Illustrations by Thomas Moran and 
IV. L. Sheppard 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
1903 



Copyright, 1876, bt 

SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG A Ca 


t • ' 

• • 
• • • 

• • • 


• • * * 

« • 4 • « * 

• • • * 

« • • t • • 




■ • • 
• • 
« • • 


• • 





tf 


TROW* 8 

printing and bookbinding compaw, 

NEW YORK. 


cy 

yd 

a 

vj 

To ARTHUR H. PERKINS, 

Hartford, Conn, 

My Dear Aiid^e: 

This little story of the Boy Emigrants** is written 
that you and other hoys like you may learn something 
of the strange, eventful history of the early overland 
travelers to California, If you shall he amused and 
entertained while you read this simple tale of real 
adventure I shall he glad; for, although this is in 
some sense a historical sketch, it is not so long since 1 
was a hoy that I have forgotten that mere history is 
very dry reading to most young folks. The scenery of 
the hook is all taken from nature; many of the char- 
acters were real people; and almost all the incidents 
which here hefall the Boy Emigrants came under my 
own observation, or under that of people whom 1 knew 
on the trail or in California. 

I have said that this is a historical sketch: and 1 
ought to add that it is a diffdent attempt to rescue 
from forgetfulness some of the traits of a peculiar move- 
ment of American population. Many, perhaps most, of 


the people who undertoolc the toilsome journey acros% 
the continent have passed away. The trail, worn smooth 
hy countless thousands of wear yfeet, is covered hy an iron 
road ; railway trains flash in a few days over the vast 
spaces where once the wagon of the emigrant crept 
vain fully through months of travel. Towns and vil 
la §es occupy the old camping-places of the wandering 
gold-seelcer ; and the telegraph wire sings through 
lonely hollows once lighted hy his watch-fires. This is 
all right and natural; hut it is only just that those 
who come after the pioneers should sometimes recall 
their tHals, struggles and triumphs. 

The little company whose haps and mishaps form 
the slender plot of this story are pleasant types of some 
of those whom we used to meet on the plains. I hope 
you will he interested in their varying fortunes ; and 
I am sure you will have no occasion to he ashamed of 
the young emigrant for whom I have taken the liberty 
of borrowing your name. 

Affectionately yours, 

JfOAE BROOKS. 


Kew York Koveniber, 1876. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEE I. 

Hard Times at Home 1 

CHAPTEB IL 

Great Preparations 8 

CHAPTER III. 

Camping Ont 19 

CHAPTER IV. 

** The Jo mping-off Place” 29 

CHAPTER V. 

New Partners . 41 

CHAPTER VL 

Adrift 63 

CHAPTER VII. 

Trouble in the Camp 66 

CHAPTER VIIL 

Some New Acquaintances 79 

CHAPTER IX. 

A Misadventure. 89 

CHAPTER X. 

Among the Buffaloes. 103 

CHAPTER XL 

In which the Boston Boys lose an Old Friend, and find a New Friend. 116 
CHAPTER XIL 

la the Heart of the Continent 128 

CHAPTER XIIL 

Laughter and Tears 14C 


In Mormondom. . 


CHAPTER XIV 




163 


via 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Great Disaster 166 

CHAPTER XVL 

In the Desert 178 

CHAPTER XVIL 

The Golden Land 191 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Crow-bait Gulch 202 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Gold 212 

CHAPTER XX. 

House-Building 221 

CHAPTER XXL 

An Expedition, and What Came of It 230 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Privation and Deliverance 239 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Luck in Streaks 249 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Wandering Once More 256 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A Separation and a Calamity 265 

CHAPTER XXVL 

A Strange Case 275 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

News and DiHooveriea 282 

CHAPTER XXVIIL 

DevclopiuentB 292 

CHAPTER XXTT 

Reckoning Cp the Gains 801 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Homeward Bound. • * 806 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


piai 

The Boys Watch the Strange Figure. { Frontispiece ,) 

Looking off Down the Valley of the Bock ... 11 

Departure of the Gold Hunters 17 

The Camp at the Jumping-off Place 28 

Away flew the Tent like a huge Balloom 65 

Hlram 70 

Arthur and the Buffalo 86 

Everybody Rushed to the Wreck 98 

Nance Appears 99 

Mont 106 

Johnny 119 

Caught in the Act 125 

Arthur 134 

Bush’s Qo-Oart 1C>8 

The Stampede 164 

The Mirage 187 

The Avalanche 237 

Be Pressed the Precious Handful to hib Lips 291 

A Coming Homeward 306 








THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


CILiPTEE L 


HARD TIMES AT HOME. 


Vt’s no use talking, Arty, there art 
too many of us. The pie don’t 
go round.” 

Arthur smiled a little ruefully 
as he added to Barnard’s com- 
plaint : And Sam and Oliver 
wear their clothes all out before 
they can be made over for me.” 

Bai-nard — whose whole name, 
by the way, was Barker Barnard 
Stevens — showed his confidence 
in his younger brother’s judg- 
ment when he said : “ As we are 
a too numerous family, what is to be done 
about it ? Kill off a few ? ” 

Arthur was one of seven — great hearty 
boys all of them. II is trousers were in- 
lierited from his elder brother Sara, and had been 
‘^turned” in the legs and were already inconveniently 
Bhort. With an impatient little jerk at the knee of onci 
of these objectionable legs, he said: “ Let’s emigiate 1 ” 



2 


THE BOY EMIORANTQ. 


Barnard, fire years older, and more cautious, asked: 
“Whereto?” 

“ Oh, anywhere, so that we have a chance to strike out 
for ourselves. Father emigrated from Vermont with all 
of us young ones, and why shouldn’t we put out for the 
Far West, I’d like to know? It isn’t so far from Illinois 
to Somewhereelse now, as it was from Vermont to Illinois 
when we were brought here.” 

“ A great deal you know about it, young Arthur boy. 
Why, you were only six years old when we came here.” 

“ All right, Barney, but I’m fifteen now, and have not 
studied geography for nothing.” 

“ Boys 1 boys ! it’s time to turn in. You’ve got to gc 
down to Turner’s to-morrow after those grain sacks ; and 
your ma says there’s no lye-meal in the house for Satur 
day’s baking.” 

This was the voice of Farmer Stevens from the porch. 
The boys had been sitting on the rail-fence in front of tlie 
house while the twilight fell. The evening was tranqui? 
but gloomy, and they had taken a somewhat sombre view 
of family affairs, considering what cheery, hopeful young 
fellows they were. 

But it was a fact that there were too many of them. 
There were four boys older than Arthur, two younger, 
and a baby sister. Since the Stevens family had settled 
in Northern Illinois, things had gone wrong all over the 
ccuntry. First, the chinch-bug came upon them and ate 
up their crop — and it was not much of a crop, either 
Then they had a good year and felt encouraged ; but next 
there fell a sort of blight on the Rock River region. It 
was dry in seeding-time and wet in harvest. The smut 
got into the wheat — and nobody planted anything besides 
wheat in tliose days. So, what with rust, mildew, and 


HARD TIMES AT HOME, 


1 


other plagues, poor Farmer Stevens was left without mu(»h 
more than grain enough to feed his growing boys. Hia 
cattle went hungry or to the butchers. From year to year 
tilings alternated between bad and worse. It was dis- 
couraging. 

As the boys climbed down from their perch^ Barnard 
said to liis father : 

Ai'ty and I are going to emigrate.” 

“ Yes, to Turner’s mill ; and be sure you bring back all 
those grain-sacks, Arthur.” 

But the watchful mother heard the remark, and said, as 
the boys lumbered upstairs to bed : 

‘‘Barnard was cut-up to-night because he missed his 
piece of pie. Joe Griflin was here, and it did not go 
round.” 

“Well, I must say, mother,” replied Farmer Stevens, 
“ it’s hard lines when the boys fall out with their prov- 
ender ; but Barney is dreadful notional, and he’s out of 
conceit with Illinois.” 

“ Yes, father, he is a restless boy, and he and Arty 
set so much by each other ; when one goes the other 
will.’' 

The poor mother laid her sleeping baby in the cradle, 
and sat for a moment looking out over the dim landscape 
beyond the open window. 

Sugar Grove was a small settlement on a broken rise of 
ground. Behind stood a dense grove of sugar-maples, 
extending two miles east and west. In front of the few 
houses and the row of wheat-farms was a broad valley 
belted with trees, and through which Bock Biver wound 
in big curves, now faint in the early summer night. The 
crop was mostly m the ground, and the little farm looked 
tidy. But the fences were not in good repair, the house 


4 


TEE BOY EMIGRABT8, 


bad never been painted, and the whole place seemed 
pinched and poor. 

‘‘ This isn’t the ‘ rich West,’ after all,” sighed Mrs. Ste- 
vens, sadly ; and the tears gathered in her eyes as she 
thought of her noble boys growing up in such strait cii 
cuinstances, with defeat and poverty continually beh n 
them. “ So the pie wouldn’t go round ? Poor Barney ! ” 
The mother laughed a sad little laugh to hei*self, as she 
thought of Barnard’s grim discontent. 

Beturning from Turner’s, next day, Arthur brought 
the family mail, which had been left at the mill by some 
of the neighbors down the road, on their way home from 
town. It was not a heavy mail ; and, as Arthur jogged 
along on Old Jim, sitting among the grain-sacks, he opened 
tlie village newspaper. The Lee County Banner was 
published once a week, and the local news usually occu 
pied half a column. This week that important part of 
the paper was led off with a long paragraph headed 
‘^Latest News from California! Arrival of Joshua 
Gates, Esq. 1 ” Arthur held his breath and read as fol- 
lows: 

We take great pleasnre in informing our friends and patrons, as well 
as the public generally, that Joshua Gates, Esq., our esteemed and 
highly-respected fellow -citizen, has just arrived from California, over- 
land. Accompanied by a bold and adventurous band of Missourians, 
he has crossed the continent in the unprecedented time of sixty- five 
days, stopping in Mormondom two days to recruit. Our fortunate 
fellow-citizen brings ample confirmation of the richness of the gold dis- 
coveries of California. To say that he brings tangible proof of all tlii* 
would be to put the case in its mildest form. Our hands have handled 
and our optics have gazed upon the real stuff brought by our enterprising 
fellow-citizen, who assures us that the half has not been told us, and 
that he proposes to return as soon as possible to what may now with 
extreme propriety be called the Land of Gold, where we are told thaJ 
% strike^’ of hundreds of thousands is a common thing, and any in 


HARD TIMES AT HOME. 


5 


dnstrious man may make from $15 to $1,500 per day. Wo welcomi 
our distinguished fellow-citizen home again, and congratulate him on 
hie well-deserved success. We append a few of the reigning prices in 
California: Flour, $15 per bbl. ; pork, $1.50 per lb. ; fresh beef, $1.00 
to $1.50 ditto ; mining boots, $50 per pr. ; quinine, $50 per o*. ; newn> 
papers, anywhere from $1.00 to $5.00 each. 

“ Gold 1 Gold 1 Gold 1 Gold I 
Bright and yellow, hard and cold. 

Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ; 

Heavy to get and light to hold.” 

Arthur did not stop to read the poetry ; he folded up 
the papei with emphasis, jammed it into his pocket, pulled 
his straw hat tightly on his head, and said : ‘‘ The very 
thing ! ” Old Jim, who had been browsing off the hazel 
brush as his young rider absorbed the news, looked around 
with meek surprise. 

Yes, you old rascal, that’s the very thing 1 We’ll go 
to California, my boy ; and when we are picking up the 
diamonds and gold-dust, won’t we tell Old Turner to go 
hang for an old hunks I ” 

Jim neighed and pricked up his ears, just as if he un- 
derstood that the miller had taken more toll from the rye 
than young Aj-thur thought he was entitled to. 

‘‘Digging up gold in California I Iley, Jim!” and 
Arthur went cantering up the road as blithely as if he 
were already in the Land of Gold. 

“ Say, mother. Josh Gates has got back.” 

“ Has that worthless, miserable vagabond come back to 
plague his poor old mother once more ?” asked the plain- 
epeaking Mrs. Stevens. “ Well, well, he’s the bad penny, 
that’s certain sure.” 

“ But he’s rich — got lots of gold from California— and 
the Banner says he’s a distinguished fellow-citizen,” re 


6 


THE BOY EMIQRANTB 


monstrated A^rthur, who suddenly reflected, however, that 
Josh Gates had gone off “ between two days,” when he 
departed from Lee County, and that he had been indicted 
for stealing hens, and that his former reputation in the 
town of Richardson was not at all fragrant 

Arthur was a little crestfallen, but he handed Sam the 
paper, and said : 

‘‘ Perhaps Gates is a liar, as well as a chicken-stealer ; 
but you see the newspaper man says that he has seen his 
gold-dust ; so there 1 ” 

“ Oh, pshaw I ” said his mother, returning to her wash- 
tub ; ‘‘ these gold stories about California are all got up to 
help the shipping people. They are selling their vessels, 
and advertising to take folks out at great prices. So the 
Chicago papers say I ” 

‘‘ But Josh Gates came back overland, ma,” said the 
boy. 

’ Tis my opinion that that scamp has never been farther 
west than Iowa,” cried Sam, holding up the paper with 
a knowing air. Hi Fender saw him over to Council 
Bluffs last fall, sweeping out a billiard saloon. He went 
from there to St. Louis as deck hand on a steamboat. 
Jle ain’t worth shucks.” 

Having so said, Sam went on mending his ox-yoke, as 
it the case were finally settled. 

That day, Arthur and Barnard worked together in the 
field, putting in a second crop where the first seeding had 
been winter-killed. They talked over and over again the 
chances of the journey to California, the story of the gold 
discoveries, the truth or falsehood of Josh Gates, and all 
the ways and means of getting across the continent 
About this last branch of the subject there was a great 
deal of doubt. It would cost much money. 


HARD TIMES AT HOME. 


7 


But only think, Barney, how grand ’t would bo if w« 
could come home in a year or two with lots of gold, })ay 
>fT tlie mortgage, build a new house, and fix things com- 
fortable for the folks during the rest of their lives i 
Wouldn’t that pay?” And Arthur, in a great glow ( f 
anticipation, scattered the seed- wheat far and wide by big 
handfuls. 

“Take care there, boyl you’re throwing away that 
grain ” grumbled Barnard, who was twenty years old, and 
a little less enthusiastic than Arthur. But he added, “ I 
do just believe there ’s gold in California ; and if we can 
only figure it out to satisfy the folks, we ’ll go there by 
hook or crook.” 

“ It’s a whack ” cried Arthur, who was ardent, and a 
little slangy. 


8 


TEE BOY EM1QRAET& 


CnAPTER IL 

GREAT PREPARATIONS. 

Now, if I was in a story-book,” said Aithnr to him- 
one day, I should find a wallet in the road, with one 
hundred and fifty dollars in it.” One hundred and fifty 
dollars was just about the sum which the boys had found 
they needed to complete an outfit for California. Without 
any formal declaration of their intention, or any ex})j e8- 
sion of opinion from father and mother, Barnard and 
Arthur had gone on with their plans ; but these were all 
in the air, so far. The details worried them a great deal. 

There was a spare wagon on the farm which might be 
fixed up and mended well enough to last for the journey 
across the Plains. Old Jim could be taken from the 
plow ; but they must have another horse, some mining 
tools, harness, and provisions. From a New England 
newspaper they cut a list of articles considered necessary 
for the journey. It was fascinating, but formidable. This 
is the way it ran : 


1 Wagon $125 00 

Wagon Cover 12 00 

3 Horses or Mules 160 00 

Harness 60 00 

Tent 25 00 

4 Picks 6 00 

3 Shovels , 4 40 


$331 40 


GHitji 't rTT^rrA UA Ti OJY\ 9 

Brought forward $381 40 

4 Gold- Pan* 1 00 

2 Axes 5 50 

8 Cwt. Flour 24 00 

1 Bush. Beans 1 25 

2 Bush. Com Meal 4 75 

1 Cwt. Pork 10 00 

4 Cwt. Bacon 14 00 

1 Cwt. Sugar 8 00 

50 Lbs. Rico 5 50 

60 Lbs. Coffee 10 80 

Sundry Small Stores 10 00 

Ammunition 12 00 

Medicines 5 00 


Total $523 20 


‘‘ More than five hundred dollars!” Arthur would say, 
over and over again. “ More tJian five hundred dollars, 
and we haven’t five hundred cents!” 

l>y degrees, liowever, the boys had managed to reduce 
the sum total somewhat. The wagon, they thought, might 
be taken out of the list. So might one of the horses, if 
Old Jim could be put instead. Then the sixty dollars for 
harness could be brought down to less than half that 
amount. They could make some of the old harness on 
the farm available — with their father’s consent. They 
could take less pork and more bacon. 

I hate pork, any how,” said Barnard, who had wcrked 
one season of haying with a neighbor, and had been fed 
on fried pork and hot bread three times a day for live 
weeks. 

“But we can’t have hams and shoulders,” objected 
Arthur. “ Don’t they cost a good deal 
“ Side meat’s the thing, Arty. No bones in it; easy tc 
carry, and cheap. Nine cents a pound ; and we’ve got a 


10 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


lot in tlio smoke-liouse, you know, that perhaps father will 
let us have some from.’’ 

“ And this fellow has got down bacon at eleven cents a 
pound 1 ” said Arthur, with great disdain. “ And what he 
ehould put in ‘ Sunday small stores ’ at ten dollars for, ia 
more than 1 know. What are ^ Sunday small stores,’ any 
how?” 

“Ilo, you goose! — those are ^sundry small stores.’ 
You’ve made an a out of an /•; that’s all. ‘Sunday 
small stores!’ Well, that’s a good one! lie’s guessed 
at the lot : and I guess it’s high for a little salt, spice, and 
such knick-nacks. Besides, there’s live dollars for medi- 
cine. Who’s going to be sick on the Plains, I’d like to 
know?” 

A multitude of such discussions as these, with much 
contriving and figuring, put tlie j oung emigrants whej-e 
they could see their way clear to an outfit — if they had 
only one hundred and fifty dollars in cash. That was a 
big sum; and, even with this, they had calculated on ob- 
taining permission to take from the farm many things 
which were needed. 

The boys studied over the ways and means of getting to 
California with real enjoyment. Hubert, the big brother, 
who was employed in a store in town, and came home on 
Sundays, declared that Arthur carried the printed slip from 
the Plowman to bed with him. Nevertheless, the whole 
family joined in the debate over the propriety of taking 
com-meal on such a long journey, or the cost of extra 
bo<;tB and clothing for the travelers, with a glow of satis- 
faction. It was a novelty, and, though none but Barney 
aiid Arthur really thought anything would come of it, all 
the boys discussed the route, outfit, and dangem of the 
way, at morning, noon and night. 



LOOKING OFF DOWN THE VALLEY OF THE ROCK. 






• ' 


> 


r 


. 



V , 


/ .. • 




. . « 

^ 9 




I 



✓ 


0 


4 


i 


\ 


0 


I 



* - ^ • 

V . • • • 

' -- • 

*< ' . •* 



GREAT PREPARATIONS, 


11 


They made out new lists of things indispensable for the 
trip, and fingered these with a certain sort of fascination 
for the Items and figures which was quite satisfactory. As 
Bam said one day, they had the fun of talking about it, 
even if nobody should go. 

The careworn mother looked on and listened. She 
could not contentedly think of these dear young fledglings 
of hers flying so far away from the home nest. There 
were dreadful tales of Indians on the way, disease, and 
death, and violence and crime in the gold diggings. What 
would become of her boys, alone and unfriended, in that 
rude countr}^, even if they should ever reach it? She 
looked at Arthur’s golden head, deep in the mysteries of 
the cookery-book, which he was studying for future use ; 
and she sighed and smiled together. Could she trust her 
boy to the chances of a roving life on the Plains? Would 
he find there the romance and fun which he anticipated ? 

“ If I was only in a story-book, now, I should find a 
wallet in the road with one hundi^ed and fifty dollars in 
it.” 

Arthur had said this to himself a great many times. 
Tliis time, as he lay at full length on top of the hill behind 
the house, looking off down the valley of the Rock, he 
built once more his golden dream. Beyond the brown, 
newly-plowed fields, suggesting only hard work ; beyond 
the tall cottonwoods that bordered the Bti‘eain,aud beyond 
the pale blue line where the valley of the Rode River 
melLcd into the sky, was the promised land So far away 
it was I Yet he could see, he thought, the gay caravans 
pressing on to the golden shores of the Pacific. There 
were long trains of brave men with wagons, horses, and 
arms. There were the rolling prairies dr»ttcd with buffalo, 
deer, and strange game. The red man lurked by the 


12 


TUB BO y EMIGRANTS. 


but flea away to the RT)cW’<»fl,pfpod mountains afe th€ 
white conqueror came on apace. The grand Kocky Moun^ 
tains, whose devious line he had painfully studied on hia 
school-map, rose maje tically on the horizon, lying like 
douds against the sky. 

How mean and narrow the little farm below him looked I 
Flow small the valley and how wearisome the plowed 
fiel is 1 He remembered that his back had ached with the 
plai ting of that ten-acre lot; and he remembered, too, 
how his father had said that little boys’ backs nr-^er ached ; 
that little boys thought their backs ached, but they didn’t. 
Arthur turned his eyes westward again with a vague and 
rej-tless longing. Surely, there was a place for him some- 
wl ere outside the narrow valley, where he could make a 
name, see the woild, and learn something besides plowing, 
scfwing, harvestii g and saving. 

‘‘One huiidrea and lifty dollars,” he murmured once 
more, as his eyes fell on Hiram Fcndci*, slowly ])lodding 
his way through the tall grass below the hill. “ Oh, Hi ! ” 
called Arthur, and Hiram, shading his eyes from the sink- 
ing sun, looked up where Arthur lay on tlie ledge. Every- 
body liked the cheery Arthur; and Hi Fender climbed 
the hill with “ Well, now, youngster, what’s up?” 

“ Nothing, only Barney wanted me to ask you, whenever 
I saw you, w hat you’d take for that white mare of youi-s. 
6he is youn isn’t she ? ” 

“ Well, yjs, 1 allow she’s mine. Dad said he’d gin he 
to me on .ay twenty-first birthday, and that was Apiile 
^e twenty one.” 

“ What' d you take for her ? ” 

“ Don't want to sell. Besides, what d’ye want her fori’' 

“ To go to California with.” 

«Be you fellers going to Oaliforny?” 


GllEA T PREP AHA T1 0N8, 


IS 


^ Yes, if we can get up an outfit.” 

Hiram Feuder looked languidly over the glowing land 
Bcape. He was a “ slow-molded chap,” Farmer Stevens 
said ; and he never was excited. But the sun seemed to 
F)urn in his eyes as he said : “ Will you take a fellow 
along ? ” 

«Who? You?” 

Sartin, sartin ; Fve been a-thinkin’ it over, and I’ll gc 
if you fellers go.” 

Arthur jumped up, swung his ragged hat two or three 
times, and said : “ Good for you. Hi I and the list is made 
out for four 1 ” 

Hiram looked on him with a mild query expressed on 
his freckled face, and Artliur took out of his pocket the 
well-worn list for the outfit and read : “ The following list 
is calculated for four persons, making a four months’ 
trip from the Mississippi to the gold diggings.” 

Hiram looked at it and said : “ Five hundred and twenty 
three dollars I Phew ! ” 

Hiram’s father was a thrifty Illinois farmer. The neigh- 
bors said he was forehanded ; ” but he had brought up 
Iiis boys to look at least twice at a dollar before spending 
it ; therefore, when Hiram looked at the sum total of 
the list, he said Phew 1 ” with an expression of great 
dismay. 

“ But,” cried Arthur, it is for four persons, and we 
ha\'e figured it down so that we only want one hundred 
and fifty dollars. Can’t you think of some other fellow 
that would go ? Then we should have a party of four.” 

“ I allow that Tom might go. lie wants to go to Cali- 
forny powerful had ; but I ain’t right sure that dadll let 
him.” 

Now, Tom was Hiram’s younger brother and Arthur’i 


14 


TBE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


paiticiiiar aversion. So Arthur dubiously said : Wculdn’l 
Hill go?” 

‘‘ Bill I ” repeated Hiram, with great disgust. “ Bill 
hasn’t got spunk enough to go across the Mississippi. Wiiy, 
he’s that scared of Injuns that he gets up in the middle ul 
the night, dreaming like enough, and yelling “ Injuns ! In- 
juns 1 ” He was scart by a squaw when he was a baby, 
and he goes on like mad whenever he hears ’em mentioned.” 

Arthur laughed. “ And he’s older than you. Hi ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Bill’s the oldest of the family. But there’s little 
Tom, now. Aint he peart, though ? lie can yoke up a 
pair of young steei*s, or shuck a bushel of corn equal to 
any grown man about these parts. And he’s only fifteen 
come harvest, too I He’s just afraid of nothing. He’ll go 
fast enough.” 

“ That is if your father will let him.” 

“ Yes, if dad ’ll let him. And we can put in my white 
mai-e agin your Old Jim. But my white mare will kick 
your Old Jim all to pieces, I allow ; ” and Hiram grinned 
at what he thought was the great contrast between the two 
horses. 

Arthur was very much elated at the prospect of rein- 
forcements to the party, though he could not regard Tom 
Bender as a desirable recruit. Tom was an awkwaid, 
loutish lad, disposed to rough ways, and holding very con- 
temptuous views of the manners of the Stevens family 
whom he called stuck-up Boston folks.” Arthui had felt 
obliged to challenge Tom to open combat on one occasion, 
when that young gentleman, secure behind Old Fendei ’a 
com-crib, bawled out “ mackerel-catchers ! ” at Arthur 
and his brothers as they were jogging along to church one 
Sunday mornijig. The consequence was that both boyi 
wore black-and-bluc eyes after that enc >unter, and suffered 


GREAT PREPARATIONS. 15 

B<3nio family discipline besides. They had since been on 
very distant terms of acquaintance. 

‘‘ 1 don’t care. Hi Fender is a downright good fellow,” 
said Arthur, when Barnard opened his eyes at the informar 
tion that the two Fender boys might be secured for their 
party. 

Yes, but how about Tom?” 

Arthur hesitated. “Well, I want to get off across the 
plains. That’s a fact. I think I could get along with 
Tom, if you can. He is real smart with cattle and horses, 
you know.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care for Tom,” said Barnard, disdainfully. 
“ He’s only a little chap, smaller than you, and he won’t 
worry me. Besides, his brother Hi is a mighty good fellow, 
even if he is rough. He is pretty close, I know, but wo 
sha’n’t quarrel about that. We’ve all got to be economical, 
if we are to get across to California.” 

So it was agreed, and when word came up the road that 
Mr. Fender had consented that his boys should go, there 
was great excitement in the Stevens house. It really 
seemed as if the boys were going to California. They had 
insensibly glided into the whole arrangement without taking 
any family vote on it. Neither father nor mother had 
once consented or refused that the boys should go with so 
much of an outfit as they m'ght pick up. 

“Oh, father,” said Mrs. Stevens, “it is heart-break* 
ing to think of those boys going off alone into the 
wilderness. I’m sure I shall never see them again, if 
(hey go.” 

“ Well, mother, I should like to keep them on tlie place ; 
Snt they are getting restive, and I don’t much blame them. 
They’ve got the gold fever pretty bad ; and if 1 was as 
young as they, J don’t know but what I’d go myself. Its 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


pretty hard pickings here.” Fanner Stevens had a roving 
disj)06itioii, which he had not quite outgrown. 

“ But,” reinoiistrated the muther, ‘‘ they haven’t money 
enough to give them a good outfit. It would be a frightful 
tiling to let those thoughtless boys go out on the great 
plains without food and other things sufficient to take them 
through.” 

“Now, mother, I’ve been thinking that we might sell 
the wood off the lower half of the wood lot down by the 
inai'sh. Page has offered me one hundred dollars for the 
cut. That, with what the Fendei^ put in and what we 
have on the place, would give the boys a tolerable fit-out.” 

That wood-lot was the special pride of the family. 
“ Timber,” as every species of tree .w’as called in those 
parts, was scarce. Wood was dear, and in some seasons the 
prairie farmers used coi-n for fuel, it was so much cheaper 
than wood ; and it cost a great deal to get the grain to 
market. It was a great sacrifice to cut down those ma})lea 
and sell them for fire- wood. But Farmer Stevens, poring 
over maps, estimates of provisions, and California news, 
with his boys, had been secretly fired with the gold fever, 
lie could not go ; but he was willing to give up the stand- 
ing timber in orier that Barnard and Arthur should have 
a good outfit. It cost him a struggle. But, old as he wasi 
he sympathized with the boys in their adventurous ambi- 
tion. He was not so sanguine about the gold of California 
holding out long. But it was there now. He had seen 
and handled Josh Gates’ pile of dust ; and Solomon Book- 
etaver, who went to the Columbia River, five years before, 
had just come hack from California and had fired the entire 
population of Lee Centre with his display of golden nug 
gets, or chispas^ as Sol called them. 

VVhen the fathers determination to sell tlie wood off hii 



DEPARTUllE OF THE GOLD-HUNTERS. 



GREAT PREPARATIONS. 


17 


woxl-^ot was made known tlie next day, in family cDUiicil, 
Barnard’s face glowed, and Sam said: “Well, I swan to 
man ! ” Arthur dashed out by the back door, turned fiv« 
or six “ flip-flaps ” to calm himself, came back, and, putting 
his arm about liis father’s neck, whispered in hiff ear 
“ You are the best old father a boy ever had !” 

So it was finally settled that the boys should go to Cali- 
fornia, across the plains, the party consisting of Barnard 
and Arthur Stevens, and Hiram and Thomas Fender. 

Great were the preparations. The provisions available 
on the two farms were laid under contribution. The tent, 
a marvel of comfort and lightness, was made and set up 
before the house, to the great curiosity of the passing 
neighbors, who stopped their teams, and asked, “ Gwine 
to Californy ? ” 

In those days, groceries and clothing were cheaper than 
now, and, with the cash which the party had collected, 
they laid in a very fair supply, and had a little money left 
to use when absolutely necessary on the journey. The 
young fellows hugely enjoyed getting ready. The woolen 
shirts and jean overalls, wide hats and leather belts, which 
were to be their uniform, were put on with solid satisfac- 
tion. Tom swaggered around with a seven-barreled Colt’s 
revolver, nearly as big as himself, slung on his hip. 
Those delightful days of packing flew quickly. The 
wagon was crammed full to the ash bows which supported 
the canvas cover. A sheet-iron camp-stove was tied on 
behind. Water-pail and tar-bucket dangled underneath. 
Thus equipped, one fine May morning, the gold hunters 
drove away. Old Jim and White Jenny trotted gaylv 
down the road, their faces turned towards the West. 

Father and mother stood at the gate. Hi Fender drove 
die wagon, the rest of tlie party triivlging along by the side 


18 


THE BOY EMI0RA2YT8, 


Hilbert, who had come over from town to see the depar 
ture, with Sam and Oliver, accompanied the young adven 
tu]-ei-8 to the top of the divide, where they left therm 
And BO they were off. Behind them was home. Before 
them an unknown sea of privation, danger, want and ad 
venture. The wagon disappeared over the ridge. 
boya wore gone. 


CAMPING OUT. 


19 


CHAPTER IIL 

OAMPINQ OUT. 

Iowa was not a thickly settled State in those days, and 
A journey across it was not so very different from the pro- 
gress of a caravan across the continent. But there were 
farm-houses along the road where the emigrants could 
procure milk, fresh vegetables, and bread. They had 
little money, and only bought such things as would help 
them to economize their stock of provisions. By and by 
they would be out of the reach of all other supplies. 
Camping out was, at first, great fun. Their tent was new, 
fresh and clean. It was big enough for six people, and a 
man c^uld stand upright in the middle, where the ridge- 
pole sustained the roof. I’his roof was in the shape of 
the letter V turned upside down, thus: j^. But about two 
feet from the ground the canvas came straight down and 
was farttened by wooden pins driven in. The main body 
of the tent was kept up by ropes, or stays, secured at the 
lower edge of the roof and stretched out to large wooden 
pins driven into the ground two or three feet off. Then, 
guy ropes, extending from each end of the ridge-pole and 
made fast to other stakes, kept the whole concern steady 
when the wind blew. So the house of this migrating 
party was dry and strong enough for most occasions, and 
it was easily packed in a small space. When the tent was 
set up at the end of a day’s march, the two upright poles 
were held up, with the ridge-pole laid on top and secured 


20 


THE BOY EMIORAirm 


at each end by an iron pin, which passed through a hole 
at each end of the pole. Two hoys lield this frail house- 
frame together while another threw the canvas over it and 
fastened it in two or three places to keep it from tumbling 
over. Then all hands stretched out the ropes, j)iTmed tlse 
cloth at the bottom, and, in a few minutes, the house was 
ready for the night. While travelling, the tent, with its 
ropes and pins, was stuffed into a stout sack. The door 
had no hinges, nor name-plate, nor door-bell ; it was a slil 
in the canvas and was fastened with strings, instead of lock 
and key. Under shelter of tliis the emigrants spread their 
blankets and buffalo robes, and slept soundly and well. 

But the cooking was a dreadful burden. Barnard had 
taken some lessons in bread -making from his mother before 
starting, and he made the first batch of bread. No, it was 
not exactly bread, either. First, he carefully put some 
flour, salt and yeast powder into a pan and mixed tliem 
thoroughly with a big spoon, the others looking on with 
admiration. Then he poured in boiling water until he had 
a thick paste, which he mixed round and round as before. 
It was fearfully sticky, but Barney bravely put his hands 
into it and attem])ted to mould the mass into biscuits. It 
would not be moulded ; such obstinate dough was never 
bef(;re seen. When poor Barney tried to pick it off from 
one hand it would stick to another. He rubbed more flour 
in to make it dryer, and then the lumps of dough all wasted 
away into chicken feed,’’ as Hiram satirically called it, 
and there was no consistence to it, and when they added 
water to it the stuff became again just like glue. 

You want to pat the cakes round and round in your 
hands, so,” said Arthur. “ That’s the way mother does.” 

‘‘ Pat ’em yourself, if you know so much about it,” said 
Barnard angrily ; and he sat down m the grass, and tried 


CAMPING OUT, 


21 


to Bcratcli his bv>tiiered head with his elbc^vs, his haiida 
being helpless wads of dough. Arthur, rolling n]) his 
sleeves, dipped into the pan and succeeded in sticking his 
fingers together so fast that each hand looked like a ver^ 
big and very badly shaped duck’s foot — web-fingeied, in 
fact. 

“ Hang the bread I ” he exclaimed ; and the rest of the 
family rolled over in the grass roaring at the comical figure 
he cut. He was daubed with dough up to the elbows and 
unable to use his hands ; a mosquito had lighted on his 
face, and, involuntarily slapping at him, Arthur had left a 
huge blotch of paste on his forehead, completely closing 
his left eye. Poor Arthur rested his helpless paws on the 
edge of the pan and said, “ I give it up.” 

‘‘ Oh, dump her into the baking-pan and let her flicker ! ” 
said Hiram, as soon as he could got his breath again. ‘‘We 
don’t care for biscuits ; it’s the bread we want. This is 
camping out, boys, you know.” 

So the mass was tumbled into the baking-pan and put 
into the oven of their handy little sheet-iron camp-stove. 
For a table they had a wide, short piece of pine board, 
whi(*.h, laid across a couple of mining-pans turned bottom 
up, answered as well as “ real mahogany,” as Arthur said. 
On this occasion, however, the tin plates and cups, the 
smoking coffee-pot, and even the fried meat, were on the 
board long before that obstinate bread showed signs of be- 
ing done. It would not rise up light “ like mother’s,” and 
when a straw was run cautiously into it the inside seemed 
as i-aw as ever. An hour’s baking seemed to make no 
impression on it, and the boys finally supplied its place 
with dry crackers and supped as merrily as if they had not 
made their first great failure. 

They tried to throw away the provoking mess of dough 


22 


THE BOY EMIORANTB 


that would not bake, but it stuck in the pan as obstinately 
as it had refused to be cooked. They scraped away at it 
with all sorts of tools, but the stuff, which now resembled a 
small bed of mortar, adhered to the pan with determination 

“ Did you grease that pan ? ” demanded Arthur. 

“ No,” said Barney, with a sudden flush. “ Who cve.f 
heard of such a thing.” 

There was another shout of laughter, for everybody at 
once recollected that the pan should have had flour, or 
gome kind of grease, put in it to keep the dough from 
sticking. While they laughed, a farm-wagon, in which 
rode an old man and a young woman, came jogging along 
the road by which they were camped. The girl wore a 
faded red calico frock which hung straight down from her 
waist to her bare brown feet. A huge gingham sun-bounet 
with a cape protected her head and shoulders. 

Arthur ran down to the edge of the road, and heard the 
old man say, ‘‘ Them's Californy emigrants.” It was the 
first time the boy had ever heard himself called an emi- 
grant, and he did not like it. But suddenly remembering 
that he was one, he checked his rising glow of indignation 
and said, “ Say, miss, will you tell us what’s the matter 
with this bread ? ” 

The girl looked at her father, who looked at the queer 
group by the tent, then at Arthur’s flushed and honest 
face, and said, “ Go, Nance.” So Nance, declining Arthur’s 
proffered hand, leaped to the ground, and wading through 
tile grass, went up and cast a critical glance at the objec- 
tionable dough. 

How d’ye make this yere?” she asked, pointing her 
elbow at the bread. Barnard described the process by 
which he had compounded that famous prep^tion of fioiur 
wid other things. 


CAMPING OUT, 23 

What sort of water did you put into it ? ” she next 
denanded. 

‘‘ Why, good spring water, of course 1 ” was the reply. 

‘‘ Cold or hot ? 

“ Oh, boiling hot, to be sure.” 

The girl suddenly clasped her hands to her stomach, sat 
down in the grass and doubled herself up like a jackknife. 
Then, sitting up again, she pushed back her sun-burinet, 
and, as if addressing herself to the camp-stove, she said : 

‘‘My goodness gracious me! if these ornery fellers 
haven’t been and gone and scalded their flour 1 Oh, my ! 
Oh, my I I’m just fit to bust 1 ” And she doubled herself 
up again. 

“ So we should not have scalded the bread, Miss Sun- 
bonnet, should we?” asked Barnard, who felt ridiculed 
and was somewhat nettled. 

The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said: 
“ Bread ! it ain’t bread ; it’s flour paste.” 

liecovering licrself, Nance good-naturedly explained 
that cold water or milk should be used in mixing the 
flour; and, adding some other general instructions, she 
strode off through the grass to the wagon. As she climbed 
up and rode away the boys saw her double herself uj> once 
more, and they thought she said, “ Scalded his flour, the 
ornery critter ! ” 

Though this was a severe lesson in housekee})ing, it wiia 
not the only one of their mortifying failures. Even when 
tuey learned to make bread with cold water, it was not 
until they had spoiled much good flour that they were 
able to make bread that was even eatable. And it was 
not in Iowa that they succeeded well enough to satisfy 
themselves. After they had crossed the JMissouri, long 
lifter, and were well out in Nebraska, Arthur made the 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


24 

first bread of which the others proudly said that it >'ai 
good enough for anybody.” 

Cooking beans was another perplexit 3 \ They baked 
them dry with a piece of pork, and when they were 
done,” they rolled out of the baking kettle like gravel 
stones, harder than when they went into it. Then, wdien 
they discovered that tlie beans should have been soaked 
and boiled, or parboiled, before baking, they took two 
quarts and soaked and boiled them. The beans swelled 
and swelled until the big camp kettle overflowed. They 
were put into otlier dishes, but would not stop swelling, 
and before those beans were ready to l)ake every dish in 
camp was full and overflowing. A satirical wood-chopper, 
loafing up to their camp in the midst of the crisis, in- 
quisitively asked: ‘‘Ee you fellows peddlin’ beans across 
to Californy ? ” 

But, notwithstanding all these drawbacks, the boys 
began to enjoy themselves very much. Some days it was 
very hot and tedious tramping along in the dusty road, 
especially when they reflected that they were so far from 
the end of their journey. Even though da^^s of travel 
were behind them, before them tlie road stretched out for 
more than a thousand miles. They seemed to have been 
on the journey a good while, but they knew that months 
must pass before they could reach the end of it. “ This is 
awful slow work,” Barney would say, when they reckoned 
up the day’s [)rogre6B. ‘‘Only twenty-one miles to-day, 
and a couple of tho\isand, more or less, to get over.” 

Hiram, however, a patient and plodding fellow, “ a) 
lowed” that it took so many 6tc])S less for next day’s jour 
ney, because those of to-day had been taken, one by one 
Amd Arthur used to look l)ack at their camj>ing-plac€ 
when they had moved on for an hour or so, and blithe!? 


VAMPmO OUT, 25 

fifty : Now I am two miles nearer California than I waa 
this morning.” 

‘‘ Two miles ain't much, especially when a chap has 
the dishes to wash at the end of every twenty miles,” says 
I’orn, surlily. Washing dishes was a very disagreeable 
{ art of camp duty. It was a continual subject of conten- 
tion. Nobody wanted to wash dishes. To be sure, the 
whole camp equipage did not amount to more than four 
or five tin plates and as many cups and knives and forks. 
An active kitchen-maid would have disposed of the whole 
lot in a few minutes. But the boys were not kitchen- 
maids, and, what was more, they would not appear as 
though they were. Hiram thought that as long as he was 
responsible for fire-wood and water, dish- washing should 
not be included in his duties. Barnard usually drove the 
team, and had getieral charge of that important branch of 
the service. Tom and Arthur attended to pitching the 
tent at night, unloading the wagon of things needed dur- 
ing camping time, and taking down the tent, packing up 
and collecting camp furniture in the morning preparatory 
to a start. All hands, with equal unsuccess, tried the 
cooking ; and all hands, though ready to find fault with 
each other’s cooking, declared that they would do anything 
but cook — unless it was to wash dishes. 

“ Perhaps you had better hire a girl to go along and 
wash dishes, Arty,” said Barnard, reproachfully. 

“ I don’t care, Barney ; I didn’t ship to wash dishes, 
and 1 won’t ; so there,” was Arthur’s invariable reply, 
which Barnard as invailably met with Who did ? ” 
()b\'iou8ly nobody did. So the dishes went unwashed, 
B^jinetimcs for days together. One morning, Hiram, taking 
up his plate, said : “ 1 wonder what was in this yere plate 
last ? There’s bacon fat and corn-dodger crumbs, boiled 
2 


26 


TEE BO 7 EMIORANT^y. 


rice, molasses and I allow that there gray streak in that 
nur’-nor’-west corner is chicken. Tell yer what, boys, I 
don’t allow that I’m agoin’ to drive horses, chop wood, or 
lug water for fellers that won’t wash dishes for decency’s! 
Bake. I’m willin’ to do my share of the cookin’, turn and 
turn about. You two boys ought to wash the dishes r(;gu 
lar. I’m the oldest feller in this yere camp, and if you, 
Tom and Arthur, don’t find some way of doin’ up those 
yere dishes between ye, before we git to the Bluffs, ye 
may as well make up yer minds to go back from there.” 

This was a long speech from Hiram, who always meant 
what he said. Barnard supported him in this decision ; 
and the younger boys, though feeling very much “ put 
upon,” agreed to take turns at playing house-maid. 

The first experiment was attended by a serious disaster. 
They drew lots for the first week’s duty, and Arthur was 
stuck,” as he expressed it, for the service. Sitting some- 
what morosely on the ground, one evening, at work on this 
unwelcome job of dish-washing, he turned tlie only crock- 
ery plate of the establishment about in his hands, wiping 
it and scolding to himseL^. Tom, who was not a little 
elated that he was exempt from this service, at least for 
one week, stood by, and aggravatingly pointing with his 
foot at the plate, said ; 

Be careful of that yere crockery, Arty, it’s Ili’s favor- 
ite dish. He’ll dress ye down if ye smash it.” 

Ai'thur, with a gust of rage, cracked Tom over his toe 
with the plate, breaking it into pieces. 

There, now I I — ” 

But before Tom could say any further, Hiram, who Iiad 
watclied the whole proceeding, seized both boys by the 
collar and hustled them towards a creek which flowed neai 
camp. 


VAMP IN O OUT. 


87 


“ Where are you going with those boys ? ” shouted Bar* 
nard, amazed and laughing as he saw stout Hiram wrest- 
ling with the two squirming boys. 

“ I’m going to drown ’em, like I would a pair of quarrel- 
Borae cats,” said Hiram, manfully struggling with the 
youngsters. 

“No you don’t, though,” said Tom, dexterously twisting 
one of his legs in between Hiram’s feet. The young man 
staggered a little, and, in his effort to save himself from 
falling into the creek, let both boys go loose. They stood 
a little way off, looking defiantly at each other and at 
Hiram. 

“ Your family government does not seem to work well,” 
said Barnard. “ I guess we’ll have to send the boys back 
from Council Bluffs. They never’ll go through this 
way.” 

Arthur, who still held in his hand a bit of the plate that 
had been the innocent cause of this outburst, said : 

‘‘Well, Tom pestered me; but I’m willing to try it 
again. Give us a fair trial, Barney.” 

Tom was sulky, but admitted that he should not have 
provoked Arthur. 

“ Tom, I’ll tell ye what I’ll do with you^^ said Hiram. 
“If ye don’t behave yerself. I’ll take away yer revoher 
and put you on the first boat bound down, after we get to 
the Bluffs.” 

“ That will be binding him over to keep the peace,” 
Wild Barnard. 

“ No,” added Arthur, opening his hand and shewing, 
with a blush, the fragment of Hiram’s pet plate, “ I’m 
giving to keep the piece.’ 

And he did. 


TEE BOY EMIORAETB 




CHAPTEK rV. 

‘^THE JUMPINGhOFF PLACE.” 

A omr of tents covered the flat banks of the Missouri, 
below Council Bluffs, when our party reached the i iver 
In those days, Council Bluffs was a scattered and ro.igh 
looking town, about four miles from the Missouri liiver ; 
and, where its edges were frayed out toward the south, 
was a long, level strip of land, extending to the broad 
sweep of the stream. Westward, this plain was dotted 
with thousands of cattle, belonging to emigrants ; and in 
that part of the plain nearest the town were the carts and 
wagons of those whose faces were now turned toward Cali' 
fornia. It was a novel sight. Here were men mending 
wagons, cooking in the open air, repairing their tents or 
clothes, trading off some part of their outfit, or otherwise 
making ready for the final start across the plains. 

Looking across the flat bottom land, Arthur could barely 
catch a glimpse of the Big Muddy, as the people called 
tlie Missouri Kiver. A fringe of low trees showed where 
the stream flowed by ; and occasionally a huge three-story 
steamboat went gliding down in the distance, looking ex- 
actly as if it were moving through the meadows. Beyond, 
the W'estern side of the river was somewhat bluffy and 
broken. A tow wooden shanties were grouped about the 
ferry landing, - a huge scow being the lueans eff transit. 
The ferry was a j ‘‘unitive affair, guided by a rope stretched 
across the stream. l)n coie eminence stood a weather 



THE CAMP AT THE JUMPING-OFF PLACE 








;• Sclr 

1 ' . 


f . . 

r- 


# 


"S 




1 


I 








w 


r'- 


t 




TEE JUMP1NG~0FF PLACE: 


29 


hcaten structure, partially boarded over. This was de- 
signed to be the capital when the country sliould be 
erected into the Territory of Kebraska. The groups of 
shanties scattered about over the hills had no luiiiic. 
Omaha has siuce arisen on that site. Then, however, the 
wliole country was one of great expectations. 

With eyes wide open, scanning the curious sights on 
every side, the boys drove their team down the river road, 
in search of a good camping-place. Their experience in 
traveling through Iowa had taught them that they must 
find a dry, smooth spot for their tent, water for the camp, 
and grass for the horses. On the edge of this strange city 
of tents they found all of these, and there they encamped. 

But they were not allow^ed to do this unnoticed. Al- 
though people w^ere continually going and coming, 
tliere were enough idle fellows to watch the new-comers 
and make remarks upon them. — “ Here’s more candidates 
California fortunes.” “ Going to the Pacific with that 
law-boned hoss? ” “ Oh, get out of that wagon and walk 

to the diggiiis.” ‘‘ What are you going to do with that 
gold-pan? ” “ Say, sonny, does yer mammy know you’re 

out?” These were some of the rude salutations which 
greeted the party as they di*ove sturdily down through the 
^ily of tents. 

Arthur’s eyes snapped a little, and his cheeks burned ; 
but Hiram, perched in the wagon, flung back the rude 
observations with cheerful readiness. One kindly-faced 
man, who walked along beside the boys, said : 

“You mustn’t mind these chaps; they’re rough, but 
good-natured ; and if you should happen to get into diffi- 
culty, they would help you readily enough.” 

Their new acquaintance showed them where pai-tiea 
from various parts of the Western States were encamped; 


so 


THE DOT EMIGRANTS, 


and they pitched their tent near that of some men from 
Hancock County, Illinois, and soon made themselves at 
home. 

They felt that they had reached “ the jumping-off place.” 
Beyond, across the river, was nothing but that vast un- 
['Token stretch of country which used to be laid down in 
the school maps as “ Unexplored Regions.” Even now it 
was unexplored except by a few people who had gone 
over to Oi*egon, Utah, or California. Contradictory reports 
about the value of the gold diggings were (doming into this 
canvas city of emigrants. The very day that they arrived 
there ran a rumor through the camp that two men had 
just come in from California with very discouraging nows. 
It was said that they had come through in twenty-eight 
days, running their mules all the way ; had had narrow 
e8ca]>es from Indians, and had got so far back on their 
way to ‘‘ the States,” as everybody called the country east 
of tlie Missouri. 

After the boys had settled their camp for the night, they 
went out and hunted up these bearers of ill tidings. Press- 
ing into a little knot of men near the camp of some New 
Englanders, who had fitted out at Council Bluffs, they 
saw a rough, bearded, ragged and seedy-looking man, 
sitting on a wagon-tongue. He was smoking a short pipe 
with great enjoyment, and occasionally he dropped a word 
by way of answer to the questions that were showered 
upon him. 

“ Gold 1 no I ” he replied, with great scorn, “ thar’s no 
g)ld in the hull country. How do I know ? Why, I wax 
thar a week ; that’s how I know.” 

Where were you? ” asked one of the bystanders. 

I was <:»n the Yuba, jest whar it jines into the Ameri 
ean. That's whar I war.” 


*• TUE JUMPINO-OFF PLAGE.'' 


31 


Bat I did’nt know the Yuba emptied into the Ameri 
can; the Yuba is further north/’ said Barnard, impul 
siVely, and before he thought. 

“ Been thar ? growled the returned Californian. 

No,” said Barnard, with a blush. 

“ Wal, I have, you bet yer,” rejoined the other. An 3 
fl's no use o’ yer talkin’, men ; I have mined it more nor a 
week in them diggins ; never got so much as a color.” 

‘‘ Did you hear of anybody who did lind gold ? ” some^ 
body asked. 

Here and thar war a man who said as how he had seed 
scune other feller as had seed another who had heerd tell 
on some other chap as had found somethin’ that looked 
like gold. I don’t put no trust into any on ’em.” 

“ You look as if you’d had a hard time,” said a sym 
pathizing visitor. 

‘‘ Misery in my bones, wust way; I ain’t been so power- 
ful bad in my life afore. Fever ’n ager wuss than in 
Arkansaw. You bet yer.” 

“ Why did’nt you keep on down the Yuba, prospecting ? ” 

‘‘ Keep on ? ” replied the veteran, with infinite scorn. 
“ We war nigh out of grub. No gold in sight. We’d 
rastled with our luck long enough, me and my pard. So 
A’e jist lit out ’n that ’tween two days. Powerful glad wo 
-^^re to be yar, too, you bet yer.” 

“ You look it,” said one of the emigrants, who seemed 

regard this dampening report as a sort of personal 
injury. 

Younkins, for this was the name of the returned pros- 
pector, told the same story all through the camps. No gold 
in California, but much sickness; cholera, fever and ague, 
and a plenty of men glad to get away, if they could only 
find the means to travel with. Some of the emigrants did 


32 


TEE EOT EMIGRANTS, 


not believe these reports. Some said : Oh, tliesc chap* 
are discouraging emigration to the diggins. They want it 
all themselves. They can’t fool us that way.” But others 
were downright discouraged. 

A day or two after, four men crossed the river from 
the Nebraska side, driving an ox-team with a shabby 
wagon. They had gone as far west as Fort Laramie, 
where they heard bad news and had turned back. The 
boys sought out this party, and heard tlieir story. They 
had lost a comrade, who had died on the way to Laramie. 
They were gloomy, disheartened, and out of spirits. They 
overtook people coining back. Some had been through to 
California; or they said they had. Others had turned 
their faces homeward after hearing the reports of others. 

This bad news had its effect in the camps. ‘‘ The mines 
have given out,” was the cry around many of the camp- 
fires ; and not a few wagons were packed up, or sold out 
at auction, and the disheartened owners retm*ned to “ the 
States,” out of pocket as well as out of spirits. In a few 
days outfits were to be had for low prices. The weekly 
newspaper at Council Bluffs vainly tried to keep up the 
excitement. Keports from California were discouraging. 
If there ever had been any gold there, it was exhausted. 
It was useless to say that there never was any of the pre- 
cious stuff found in the mines. Many of the emigrants had 
seen some that had been brought to their own homes 
Arthur and Barney had touched and handled Gates’ golden 
ore But the mines had given out, and that was the end 
of the matter. 

* I don’t believe any such yarn,” said Barnard, stoutly 
^ I don’t want to influence the rest of you boys ; but I’m 
i»v)ing through. For one, I shall not turn back.” 

“Nor 1 1 ” said Arthur, with a burst of enthusiasm. 


•• TEE JUMPINO-OFF PLAGE. ^ 


33 


Nor I,’ added Tom. 

‘‘ It’s Califoriiy or bust, with me,” said Hiram, sen* 
Lontioiisly. 

So they were agreed. 

But things looked rather blue at times ; and when those 
who had turned back drove slovdy up the road and disap- 
peared among the bluffs, Arthur locked after them with 
some misgivings, and with a touch of home-sickness in his 
heart. Then he turned his eyes westward where the sun 
dipj^ed below the western hills. As, at one glance, he saw 
the long trail stretching over the unknown land, it was a 
mysterious and untried way. The boy hesitated only for a 
moment, and stretching out his arms toward the setting 
Bun, said to himself, I’m bound to go through ! ” 

After all, however, there were very few who turned 
back, compared with the number remaining at tlie Bluffs. 
And every steamboat that came up the river brought fresh 
recruits from the towns and cities below. These had only 
part of their outfit with them ; some of them at once 
bought out the entire equipment of those who were return- 
ing, and so stepped into possession of all that was needed 
to take them through. In a few days the city of tents 
grew a great deal ; and, on the western side of the Mis- 
souri, where the bottom land spread out, as on the Iowa 
Bide, there was a considerable encampment. These, like 
the camps across the river, were changing all the while. 
Every day a train of wagons would roll out over tlie hills, 
bound for California at last; and new additions were im 
mediately made. This was the place where emigrants to 
California found what was yet to be added to their equip- 
ment. Supplies were plenty, and sold at reasonable prices. 
People who, like our boys, had traveled across the country 
by team, had used some of their provisions before reaching 


S4 


TEE DOT EMIGRANTS. 


the Bluffs ; and their brief experience in camping out and 
traveling showed them where their equipments were im- 
perfect. Council Bluffs was a busy place ; everybody had 
something to sell ; and the citizens of that thriving town 
strolled among the canvas tents of the emigrants with calm 
xatisf action. 

There was much hunting to and fro for people who had 
come across the country, by their comrades who had fol- 
lowed after by the speedier transit of railroad and steam 
boat. Some of these parties were never made up again 
It often ed happened that those who arrived first grew 
tiled of waiting for those who were to come after. Al- 
though there was much delay at the Bluffs, everybody was 
feverish and excited. If they were going on to the land 
of gold, they were in a hurry to start. If they had de- 
cided to return, they had no time to waste at the river. So 
little companies broke up, some going on and some turn- 
ing back. Friends, neighbors and families were thus 
dispersed, never to meet again. And, wandering around 
from camp to camp, were those who expected to find 
their comrades, but who, too often, found that they had 
gone on before. Some of these belated ones were dis- 
heartened, and went no farther ; but most of them joined 
themselves to other parties and sc pushed on to Cali- 
fornia. 

Our boys began to think that their two-horse team waj 
hardly heavy enough to draw their wagon across the con- 
tinent. They saw that most people had at least two spare 
horses ; and many more oxen than horses were used by 
tlie emigrants. 

‘‘ Oxen is the things, I allow, after all, boys,” said Hi- 
ram, who had studied the subject carefully while coming 
through Iowa. ‘Just suppose one of these bosses should 


“ THE J UMPINO- OFF FLA GE:^ 3 ^ 

np and die ; where’d ye be then f We’d have to liaul 
tlii'oiigh with one hoss.” 

“ But suppose we were chased by Indians,” remonstrated 
Arthur. “We couldn’t get away with oxen, could we?” 

“ Indians 1 pshaw 1” said Hiram; “there ain’t no Im 
dia»8, so far as heerd from. And if there were, bosses 
won’t save us, you may bet on that.” 

“We might trade off our horses for oxen,” said Barn- 
ard, “but we couldn’t expect to get two yoke of oxen for 
a pair of horses ; and unless we had two yoke we should 
be no better off than we are now.” 

“ Cattle are cheap,” explained Hiram. “ We can buy a 
yoke for fifty or sixty dollars. Old Jim is worth that 
much money, and my Jenny could sell for more than the 
cost of another yoke. The farmers around here are bring- 
ing in their cattle.” 

“ Golly ! how it rains,” broke in Tom, who had been 
trying to keep the beating current out of the tent. The 
water flowed in under the edge of the canvas from the 
sloping ground in the rear. Arthur jumped up in (;ou- 
sternation. He had been sitting in a little pool of watcir. 

“ All hands out to dig trenches,” shouted Barnard. The 
night was pitch dark, and the boys seized their lantei*n, 
shovels and ax, and sallied out to dig a narrow ditch about 
the tent. The water poured into this, and so was carried 
off on each side, and their canvas-house stood on a little 
island of its own. But the rain fell in torrents, and the 
tent flapped wildly in the wind. 

“ Tell you what, fellers,” said Hiram, shaldng the water 
from him, as they crouched inside again, “ this ain’t what 
it’s cracked up to be. Camping in a rain-storm ain’t great 
fun ; hey, Arty ? ” 

Arthur was just going tc say that they might be woi*s« 


36 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


off before they got across the plains, when a pair of veiy 
thin hands were thrust in at the opening of the tent, nov« 
tied together for the night, and a thin voice said, “ Please 
may 1 come in?” 

“ Sartin, sartin,” said Iliram heartily. ‘^"Walk in and 
make yourself to hum, whosumever you be.” 

Arthur unfastened the tent curtain, and a boyish figure, 
slender and woe-begone, struggled into the group. 

The stranger might have been about thirteen years old. 
11 e looked as if he had lived about forty years. He wore 
a pair of trousers made of sti-iped jean, resembling bed- 
ticking; and his jacket of linsey-woolsey homespun, and 
died with butternut juice, was much too short at the wrists. 
II is face was pale, but sweet and pleasant, and he had 
mild blue eyes. Under his arm he carried a large bundle, 
and on his head he wore a very seedy coon-skin cap, wet 
and dripping with the rain. He put his bundle carefully 
on the ground, and tied the tent together again ; then, 
turning about, he surveyed the little party in the tent with 
mild inquiry, but without a word. 

“What mought yer name be?” asked Hiram, when no- 
body else had broken silence. 

• “ Jolinny.” 

^ Hiram paused. He felt that the boy’s name was notj 
Wtcr all, of much consequence to anybody ; but to ask fcr 
t was one way to begin a conversation. And he had not 
got far. “Johnny” was rather vague. 

“Jolinny what?” spoke up Tom. 

“ That’s all. Only just Johnny,” was the reply. 

“Oh, don’t bother the boj about his name,” broke in 
Barnard. “Where are your folks? Are you going tc 
California?” 

^ Yes, I’m going to Calif orny ; and I don’t know wbei'e 


“ THE JUMPING-OFF PLAGE: 


37 


mj folks are. Perhaps you’ve seen ’em, sir. There's a 
tall one with l*ed liair, and a short one with harelip, and 
another one with a game leg. Oh, sir, haven’t you seen 
'em nowliei-e ? ” and the poor boy’s eyes filled with tears 
as he spoke. 

A game leg ? ” repeated Hiram. Boys, don’t yon 
remember that thar mean skunk as stele Josh Davis’s ox- 
chain over on the west side ? He mought have been the 
chap. Did he wear a red shirt, with a blue handkercLer 
ai*ound his neck?” he asked of Johnny. 

“Yes,” said the boy; “and his name was Bunce — 
Bill Bunce — and we are from Vermillion County, Illi- 
nois.” 

“ I allow he and his pardners have gone on ahead,” said 
Hiram. 

“ I was over on the Omaha side when they drove out,” 
added Tom ; and they had a big yaller dog named Pete 
with them. Golly ! but that dog was a master-hand to 
hunt chipmunks ! How he would ” 

“ Oh, you talk too much with your mouth,” interrupted 
Hiram, impatiently. Johnny showed signs of breaking 
into tears. He sat down and told his story. He had lived 
in Vermillion County with a man who was called a doctor, 
he said. Evidently he had been hardly used, and had 
never known father or mother. A drudge inacountiy 
doctor’s house, he had been kept in ignorance of the world 
outside, of his own friends, and of his father and mother. 
He had never even been told his own name. How did he 
get here ? That was simple enough. Three or f<uir of 
the doctor’s neighbors were going to California. They 
ofiered to take the boy along, lie was too glad to get 
away from the brutal and quick-tempered doctor, to wait 
for a second hint. They bad journeyed on together UJ 


38 


THE DOT EMIORANTD, 


Quilicjj oil the Mississippi, where the men left Johnny tc 
follow them by steamer, while they went another way,” 
as they said. They promised to write to him when to start 
for Ocuncil Bluffs. lie waited several weeks at the mii»- 
erable little boarding-house where they had lodged him 
Alarmed at the long delay, he had started off by himself, 
and here he was. 

‘‘ Probably their letters miscarried,” said Arthur, with 
pity in his eyes. 

More likely they never wrote,” added his wiser brother. 

The youngster looked distressed, but spoke up cheer- 
fully: “Perhaps they haven’t gone. They said they would 
wait here for me.” 

But Hiram was sure about “ the man with the game 
leg ; ” he was not positive as to the others. Both Arthur 
and Tom remembered the lame man with the big yellow 
dog, especially the dog ; and nobody was sure whetlier the 
tall man with liiin had red hair. 

“ Well, you can can bunk down with us to-night,” said 
Hiram, “ and in the morning we’ll take a hunt through 
the camps, and if your fellows haven’t lighted out, we’ll 
find ’em.” 

The next morning broke fair and bright. The rain had 
ceased in the night, and great drops were shining f>n the 
grass and on the bushes that bordered the plain. With a 
bound of exhilaration, Arthur sprang out of his (lamp 
blankets and began to make ready for breakfast. Jolinriy 
ciep‘. <iut into the sunshine, and, having follovv'ed Arthui’s 
ijxample by taking a wash from the tin wash-liand basin 
that was produced from the wagon, he sat watching the 
preparations about the camp-stove. 

“ May 1 stay to breakfast wdth you? ” he asked. “ l’\« 
ot money enough to pay for it.” 


“ THE JUMPIhG-OFF PLAGE: 


39 


don’t know,” said Arthur, doubtfully. “You will 
have to ask Barney. Well, yes, you shall stop too, ’ he 
added, as he saw the boy’s face fall. You shall have iny 
breakfast, anyhow.” 

“ But I can pay for it. I’ve got some money sewed into 
my jacket.” 

“ IIow much ? ” demanded Tom, who was splitting up 
a fence-rail for fire-wood. 

“ Eighty dollars,” said Johnny, simply. 

“ Jerusalem crickets 1 ” exclaimed Tom. “ Wliere did 
you get so much ? ” 

“ Dr. J enness gave it to me before I left. lie said it 
was mine, and that he had been keeping it for me.” 

Before any more talk could be made, a bright-faced, 
handsome young fellow, with a citified and jaunty air, 
walked up to the group, and asked, “ Can you tel 1 
me where I can find the Lee County boys, as they call 
them ? ” 

“ That’s us,” said Tom, with a good-natured grin. 

“ Well, I’m ill luck ; and where’s the captain? ” 

Barnard, who was coming out of the tent with an armful 
of bedding, said : “We have no captain. What’s your 
will?” 

“ I hear you want a yoke of cattle. I have a yoke which 
I should like to turn in as part of my outfit, if you will 
take another partner. I’m going through.” 

Barnard eyed him suspiciously, and said, “ Where 
from ? ” 

“ Well, I’m from Boston last ; born in Vermont, though ; 
have been in the dry-goods trade; got tired of selling 
goods over the counter. I’m going through.” 

The boys looked curiously at the Boston dry-goods salcf^ 
man, who had come all the way to Council Bluffs to find 


40 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


a chance to go to California. He said his party had 
broken np and gone back. 

We’ll think it over,” said Barnard. 

^ All right,” said the Boston man. My name is Mon 
a^^ue Morse.” 


NKW PAUTNEliS. 


4 ) 


CHAPTER V. 

NEW PAKTNEK8, 

The boys were a little sliy of Mr. Montague Morse. n« 
bad the appearance of “ a city chap,” Hiram Fender said. 
He wore a plaid velvet vest, a black frock-coat (somewhat 
seedy, to be sure), and his trousers, though tucked into the 
tops of his calfskin boots, w^ere more suitable for Boston 
streets than for the great plains. Then he was very pre- 
cise in his language, and had a way of saying ‘‘ good 
morning,” instead of ‘‘ morn in’ to yer,” which quite dis- 
comlited Hiram and Tom. The latter took the earliest 
opportunity to declare that “ that Boston feller was 
cranky.” It seemed very odd, too, that he should be 
knocking about there on the frontier, alone, and seeking 
a chance to get in with some party bound across the con- 
tinent. To be sure, he said that his party had broken up 
and had left a yoke of cattle on his hands ; but how did 
thev know that he had not stolen these oxen ? Arthur 
fairly shuddered when this dark suspicion crossed his 
mind ; and he looked involuntarily to see if their new ac- 
quaintance did not have the game leg ” by which Johnny 
had described a missing adventurer. Morse, however, 
told a very straightforward story, and his manner was so 
frank and open that one of the party, at least, regarded 
him with favor. Barnard saiii, after much deliberation! 
“ That fellow is clear grit.” 

One afternoon, the boys, leaving Tom at home “ tc keep 


4 % 


THE BOY EMI0IUHT8. 


iiouBG,” crossed the river and hunted up Morse, who wai 
temporarily quartered at the camp of some Illii.ois men. 
They saw his oxen grazing in the meadow hard by, and 
fe(X)n satisfied themselves that he had honestly come into 
possession of them. The people at the Illinois comp knew 
all the circumstances of the breaking up of the Boston 
man’s party, and they incidentally told the story ovci 
again while gossiping about the intended trade with oui 
boys. 

“ But if we take your cattle in with our team, we shah 
have to trade off our horses, and get a yoke of oxen for 
ourselves,” interposed Barnard. 

“ Hosses ? have you got a hoss for sale ? ” asked one of 
the Illinois party. 

‘^We have a pair,” replied Barnard, “which we shall 
not want if we go on with cattle. What do you think are 
best for the plains — cattle or horses ? ” 

“ Well, some allow that hosses is best, because they’re 
the fastest ; then, agin, there’s them that allows that cattle’s 
best, because they hold out better in the long run. Then, 
agin, cattle can feed where hosses would e’enamost starve 
to death. Hosses is delicate critters, powerful delicate. 
How much do you allow you’ll get for yer hoss ? ” 

Hiram broke in with the information that they had not 
made up their minds to sell. They were only considering 
the matter. At this, a silent man, who had been mending 
his trousers in a corner of the tent, spoke up : 

'I know four chaps camped down by the ci^ck. 
They’ve got a cheap yoke of cattle — a young cow and a 
smart little steer ; just the thing for a leadin’ yoke.” 

Arthur laughed outright at the idea of driving a cow ic 
an ox-team. 

“ Weil, you may laugh, young feller,” said the man, bm 


NEW PARTNERS, 


43 


he shut up one eye and tried to thread his needle ; but 
let me tell ye that cows is cows in Californy — one hundred 
and sixty or seventy dollars a head, I’ve heerd tell ; and a 
good drivin’ cow will pull like all possessed, if she’s rightly 
yoked. Then there’s yer milk all through, ye see, fui’ 
nothin’, so to speak.” And he resumed his mending. 

‘‘ It wouldn’t do any harm to go and see that team of 
mixed critters,” suggested Iliram. 

So the boys started up, and, getting directions from the 
party in the tent, went off to find the camp by the creek. 
As they were moving away, the spokesman of the Illinois 
men called after them : 

“ I’ll trade with ye for that white boss of your’n. I seen 
him when we war cornin’ through loway. Say sixty-five 
dollars?” 

“ He’s worth seventy-five,” called back Hiram ; and the 
boys went on together, the Boston man leading off at a 
great pace. They searched around a long time before 
they found the camp of the men who had a yoke of cattle 
to sell. At most of the camps where they inquired, things 
seemed gloomy. The latest news from California was 
unfavorable. Many were talking about turning back; 
but many others were doggedly completing their prepara- 
tions for the final start. One man, standing on the wheel 
of his wagon, with a marking-brush and pot of paint, was 
printing on its canvas cover the words CaKfornia or bust.” 
This was a sort of defiant declaration that many men 
thought it necessary to make, considering how many people 
were endeavoring to discourage others. The sign was 
common on the tents and wagon-covers of the emigrants. 
Others had such inscriptions as “We are bcmnd to go 
tlirough,” or “ Bound for the Sacramento,” and one party 
had painted on their wagon-cover “ Boot, hog, or die.” 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS, 


It was a picturesque sight, this city of emigrants. Morfl 
people were here than on the east side of the river. Most 
of them had completed their outfit at Council Bluffs, and 
were fixing up the few odds and ends that were need(id 
before the final start. Already they affected the rude 
ways and manners of the plains. For the most part, the 
men wore slouched hats, and red or blue flannel shirts; 
they discarded coats and vests, and wore belts at the waist. 
The weather was mild, for it was now early May, and 
groups of emigrants were cooking in the open air, and 
carrying on a sort of outdoor house-keeping, of which 
their wagons were the foundation. Here and there was a 
family of father, mother, and children. One wagon the 
boys saw had ‘^No more Missoury for us” painted on its 
dingy red cover in black letters ; and a flock of white- 
haired children — Arthur said there were sixteen — climbed 
out and in, staring open-eyed at the strangers. This popu 
lous group had no tent ; they lived wholly in the wagon, 
an enormous affair with a tall top, high at each end and 
lower in the middle. The father of the family, a yellow- 
faced, discouraged-looking man, wearing mud-colored 
clothes of home-spun, “ allowed ” tliat he was from ‘‘ Ar- 
kinsaw,” and was not quite sure whether he should go to 
California or Oregon. He should go by the North Platte 
loute, and turn off to the north by the Fort Hall road, if 
the gdd news should “peter out” by the time he reached 
that point. 

“ Gosh I how that Boston fellow do walk,” sighed Hi 
ram, who found it difiScult to keep up with their new 
comrade. Morse strode on ahead, talking eagerly over 
liis shoulder ; and the hard buds of the “ rosinweed ' 
plants that covered the meadow rattled against his boot 
legs as he measured off the ground. Arthur trotted alon^ 


NEW PARTNEm, 45 

somewhat laboriously, and wondered if all Boston people 
walked like Mr. Montague Morse. 

They found the men who had the ox and cow for sale — 
tour great hulking fellows who had four yoke of cattle 
among them. They had two wagons, one of whien they 
had exchanged for provisions and cash in the town of 
Council Bluffs, and the other they retained. They would 
sell the ox and cow together for sixty-five dollars. The 
cow was skittish and a little wild-like,” but a good milker 
and was first-rate in the yoke. The steer — well, there he 
was, a small black fellow, with one horn crumpled down 
in the oddest sort of way. 

‘‘Strong as a steam-ingine,” explained the owner. 
“ Strong as a steam-ingine and tame as a kitten. And, 
stranger, he’s just the Imowingest critter you ever see. 
’Pears like he was human, sometimes — hey, Tige ! ” and 
the man affectionately patted the little black steer on his 
nose. 

“ Is this all you’ve got to sell ? ” asked Hiram, rather 
discontentedly. 

“ Well, the fact is, stranger,” replied the man, “ we don’t 
really want to sell. ’Pon my word, we don’t. But we’ve 
no need fur all these cattle, and we do need the money. 
I just hate like poison to part with Old Tige. (His name’s 
Tiger, you see, and we call him Tige, for short.) But we’ve 
got three other yoke and a light load ; and we allow to go 
through right peart, without no trouble.” 

The boys walked around the cattle two or three times 
more, their owner treating them to a long string of praises 
of his odd yoke, as he sat on the wagon-tongue and talked 
fast. 

“Come now, say sixty dollars and it’s a trade. I want 
the money powerful bad,” he concluded. 


46 


TUB BOY EMIGEAJSTB, 


Arthur pulled Hiram’s sleeve and said : 

“ Take him, Hi ; take him. I like that little blaeft 
steer.” 

Hiram spoke up : Give us the refusal of this yer yoke 
of cattle until to-morrow ? ” 

“ We have not yet concluded whether we shall buy any 
cattle here, or go on with our horses,” explained Barnard. 
Morse looked a little disappointed, but said nothing. 

It was agreed that the boys should have until next day 
to make up their minds about buying the cattle at sixty 
dollars for the yoke. As they walked back, Morse, thought- 
fully whipping off the weed-tops with his ox-goad, said : 

“ You fellows take account of stock — wagon, outfit, pro 
visions, and team. Fll put in my yoke of cattle and my 
share of provisions and outfit, or money to buy them, and 
will pay you my proportion of the cost of the wagon. 
Partnership limited ; the concern to be sold out when we 
get tlirough ; share and share alike. How’s that ? ” 

“ That’s fair,” said Barnard. But Hiram nudged him, 
and then he added : “ We’ll talk it over. You come across 
and see us the first thing to-morrow morning.” 

It was agreed, and the boys went back to their camp to 
discuss the proposition. Barnard and Hiram were really 
the final authorities in the matter ; but Arthur and Tom 
exercised the younger brother’s privilege of saying what 
they thought about it. Arthur thought the Boston man 
must be a good fellow. He was bright and smart ; and 
Arthur had noticed that he spoke cheerily to the white- 
headed children in the Arkansas wagon. Besides, he was 
always pleasant and full of jokes, added the boy, with h 
feeling that that was not conclusive, though ho had f t)rme(| 
his opinions partly by it. 

“ 1 suppose we have really made up our minds tc gc 


NEW PARTNERS. 


47 


with oxen. 1 like that Boston chap. We can’t get another 
yoke of cattle — if we sell your horse and buy the ox-and- 
cow yoke — any better than by taking this man into camp 
with us,” argued Barnard. 

But them store clothes 1 ” said Hiram, with some dis- 
gust. 

‘‘ Why, he can’t help it if he has to wear out his old city 
clothes,” said Arthur, eagerly. “ He is not foolish enough 
to throw them away. So he wears ’em out for common 
ones. Don’t you see ? ” 

“ And he’s a powerful walker,” added Hiram, with an 
expression of admiration on his freckled face. “ Golly ! 
liow that chap kin walk, though ! ” 

And this turned the scale. The Boston man was sol- 
emnly voted into the partnership. 

Tom once more objected that Morse was stuck up,” 
and he was once more suppressed by his brother, who re- 
minded him that he talked too much with his moutk 
This frequent rebuke having silenced Tom, Hiram added : 

“ A feller that knows as much about cattle as he does, 
and kin walk li^e he does, isn’t stuck up. Besides, he’ll 
put in just about eighty dollars inter the company’s mess.” 

At this, little Johnny, who still clung to the boys, started 
up. ‘‘ Eighty dollars 1 Oh, I’ve got eighty dollars. Won’t 
you take me through for that ? ” 

Hiram looked with some disdain on the little fellow, 
who was trembling with excitement, and said ; ‘^You got 
eighty dollars my little kid 1 Where ? ” 

Johnny hastily stripped off his striped trousers, and, 
turning out the lining of the waistband, showed four 
fl&t, round disks of something hard, carefully se\\ed in. 

“ Them’s it I them’s it 1 ” Four on ’em ; four twenty dol- 
lar gold pieces, all sewed in.” And, slitting little holes i* 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


«8 

the cloth, he showed the coins, sure enough, each sewed 
in separately from the other. 

Poor little chap I We don’t want to take your money, ” 
said JJaraard. 

No,” added Hiram. Besides, you hain’t got no clothes 
wuth speaking about. You can’t go across the plains in 
them clothes.” 

‘‘They’re not ‘ store clothes,’ though, Hiram,” added 
Arthur, with a laugh. But Arthur’s heart had gone out 
to the poor little waif, and he reminded his comrades that 
part of his money might be used for an outfit, and it would 
be only fair to take part as his share of the cost of the 
trip. 

“ Besides, I’ve got clothes,” said the waif ; and, unroll- 
ing his bundle, he showed some coarse woolen shirts, a 
pair of cowhide shoes, overalls, and a few small articles of 
wearing apparel. 

Barnard inspected these critically, and said : “ No 
woman folks put these up ; but they’ll do better than 
nothing.” 

Arthur felt a touch of homesickness at this remark, and 
his thoughts fiew back to his mother as he glanced over 
his own tidy suit, the work of his mother’s hands. He saw 
her again at the garden-gate, as he had seen her many a 
time while camping out in the lovely Iowa prairies ; and, 
with a soft voice, he said : 

“ Let’s take Johnny along, boys. He shall have half of 
my blankets.” 

“ What do you say, Barney ? ” asked Hiram, with a little 
glow in his honest heart, though he looked at the waif with 
an air of severe scrutiny. 

I’m agreed, if you are,” replied Barnard. “ But T teh 
you what it is, Arty, — o ir tent is full, and we can’t have 


NEW PAMTNER8, 




any more passengers or lodgers. The partnership is com- 
plete this time.” 

At this, Johnny, who had ripped out the four gold coina 
from his waistband, put them into Hiram’s hand, and 
said: 

“ Am I going through with you ? ” 

‘^Weli, r allow you shall go through with us, youngster. 
It’s share and share alike, you know ; and you are to do 
your part of the work. That’s all. There’s nothin’ cornin’ 
to ye when we get through. Understand that?” And a 
hard look flitted across the young man’s face as he jingled 
the gold in his palm. 

Johnny protested that he understood the bargain per- 
fectly. He was to have such clothes as they thought 
necessary. The rest of his cash was to pay for his share 
of the provisions needed for the trip. 

Next day Morse came over early, with the information 
that the Illinois men would give seventy dollars for 
Hiram’s white horse. Morse was informed of the conclu- 
sion of the partnership discussion. The terms were once 
more gone over and fairly understood on both sides, and 
the bargain was ratified. Now, then,” said Barnard, “ this 
is Mister Hiram Fender, late of Lee County, llinois, known 
as Hi Fender, for short. This is Thomas Fender, brother of 
the same, and ‘ a right peart boy,’ as he says ; otherwise 
Tom. And this infant is my brother, Arthur Adams Ste- 
vens, probably the best boy that over lived — except myself, 
and is known in this camp as Arty. As for myself, 1 am 
Arty’s brother, which is glory enough for me, and my 
name is Barker Barnard Stevens ; otherwise Barnard, 
usually called Barney for short, and sometimes dubbed 
Barney Crogan, by my small and impertinent brother.” 

The bovs laughed heartily at this long speech ; Mc»i*8a 
3 


50 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


not to be outdone in advancing into intimate acquaintance, 
gaid : 

•‘Permit me, gentlemen, to introduce myself — Monta' 
gue Perkins Morse, late of Hovey & Co.’s, Boston ; now 
bound for California, or bust; and generally known aa 
Mont Morse, or, if you prefer it, Mont — and very much at 
your service.” 

With a great deal of enthusiasm, the boys celebrated 
this happy conclusion of affairs by going over the river 
and closing the two bargains. The white horse was sold 
to the Illinois men for seventy dollars ; and they took Tige 
and Molly, for these were the names of the ox and cow, at 
the sum agreed upon the day before. 

“ We will move over here to-morrow,” said Hiram, “ and 
we will take the cattle off your hands then.” 

“But to-morrow is Sunday,” said Mont. “Weai’Qiiot 
going to travel Sundays, are we ? ” 

Himm looked a little troubled for a moment. Then 
Barney cheerily said : 

“ Oh, no ; we are not going to travel Sundays, except 
in cases of great emergency. Are we. Hi ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” answered Hiram, briskly. “ Never 
allow to travel on Sundays, not if we can help it.” 

“ Then you ’ll keep the cattle until Monday, won’t you 
asked Barnard. 

“ Well, if you fellers are too pious to come over on Sun* 
day, you may take ’em away now,” said the man, 
gruffly. 

“ All right,” replied Hiram. “ We’ll take them now, 
and be beholden to nobody for nothin’.” 

So the cattle were taken across the ferry, and the boyi 
had milk with their corn-meal mush that night. 

“ A mean old hunks,” growled Hiram. “ Wanted ns to 


NEW PARxNERS, 51 

smash Sunday all to pieces, did he ? Well, I allow we 
made just two milkings out of him.” 

Sunday here was not like the Sabbath at home. Labor 
was generally suspended throughout the camps, however, 
except where some impatient party stole out with their 
teams, driving along with a half-subdued air, as if afraid 
‘‘to smash Sunday all to pieces.” Here and there, emi- 
grants, looking neat but uneasy in their particularly clean 
clothes, lounged about the wagons and “ traded ” in under- 
tones, or discussed the latest news from Oalifornia, by way 
of the States. 

The bright May sun shone down upon a motley mass of 
people scattered among tents or grouped around wagons. 
About noon, the blowing of a horn announced that a reli 
gious service, of which notice had been previously circu- 
lated, would begin. There was a general sauntering in the 
direction of a cluster of wagons, near which a preacher, 
standing on a feed-box, called the people about him. 

Five or six women, wives of emigrants, aided by twice 
as many men, formed a choir, and their voices rose sweetly 
on the air with the familiar hymns of Christian service. 
Then the minister, after devotional exercises, preached a 
little sermon from the text in Romans viii., 17. He talked 
about heirs and heirship ; he dwelt on the fact that they 
were all seeking an inheritance, and while he inculcated 
wisdom and prudence in this search, admonishing the 
people about him to seek the true riches, he reminded 
them that they were joint heirs; that their inheritance was 
mutual. He taught them to bear with one another ; tc be 
patient, loving, and to go on in their journey of life, aa 
across the continent, with unselfishness, bearing each 
other’s burden. 

“ That’s a right smart chance of a sermon,” said Hiram, 


52 


TEE BOY EMIQ11ANT8. 


as they moved away after the last hymn had been sung 
and the attentive crowd had dispei’sed. “ A good sermon ; 
and just you remember what the parson said about toting 
one another’s burdens, you Tom, will ye ? ” 

Tom received this lesson with some show of indignation^ 
and said : 

O yes, you’re the man that hears sermons for some 
other feller, you are.” 

But Arthur added, in the interest of peace : 

Tige can’t carry the yoke alone. Molly must bear up 
her end. So if you and I don’t wash the dishes and get 
supper, Hi and Barnard can’t drive the wagon and get 
wood and water.” 

‘‘ Good for you, Arty,” said Hiram, heartily. And 
even little Johnny here is goin’ to pitch in and do his 
share. I know he is, for I seen him choppin’ wood this 
mornin’ like sixty.” 

Johnny colored with pleasure at this rude praise, and 
Arty declared that Johnny was one of the joint heirs 
whom the preacher had talked about. 

The debate about the sermon and their future united 
interests was a pleasant end to a pleasant day. Mont had 
taken up his abode with the party. The tent was full, and 
tlie six young fellows were paired off among the quilts and 
blankets that covered their floor of grassy earth. 

That night, Arthur felt Johnny stirring under the 
blankets by his side. 

What is the matter, Johnny ? ” he asked. 

The boy put his thin hand on his companion’s shoulderi 
and whispered in his ear, ‘‘I love you.” 

Arty kissed the little waif and said, It’s a bargain.’ 
Then they slept again. 


AJJEIFT. 


U 


CHAPTER VI. 


ADBIFT. 

“ Well, now, Johnny, yon do look right peart.^^ Thii 
was Hiram’s opinion of the little lad when he had been 
equipped with his new suit of clothes. He brought enough 
apparel with him for common wear; but he needed a ser- 
viceable suit for a change. This, with the necessary boots 
and shoes, a warm jacket for cold weather, and some addi- 
tional supplies wliich his enlistment in the company re- 
quired to be bought, made quite a hole in the eighty 
dollars which he had put into the common fund. 

“Hever mind, youngster,” said the good-natured Hi. 
“ I allow we’ll have enough for all hands to get through 
on; so as you pitch in and do your share of work, we 
sha’n’t find no fault.” 

Johnny declared his willingness to do all he could for 
the benefit of the company, whether it was picking up fuel, 
washing dishes, or driving the team. He was quite a man 
now, he thought, though only a little fellow. For wasn’t 
he bound for California to make his fortune ? And he 
was going with his own resources, too, and could earn liia 
way. This thought made the boy cheerful and happy; 
the color came again into his cheeks ; he grew merry and 
frolicsome ; and, before the last days of preparation were 
over, the poor outcast was, as Hi said, right peart.” 

They had delayed at the river a longtime. There were 
many things to be disposed of, and their places to le miy 


54 


THE BOY EMIGBANTH, 


plied with articles which were more needed. There were 
preventives against scurvy to be bought, for they had 
heard that some emigrants ahead of them had suffered 
from that dreadful disease, just as sailoi*8 do on the ocean 
when their vegetables and fresh provisions give out. So 
the boys laid in a supply of dried apples and vinegar 
and traded away some of the stuff which they had in ex- 
cess. Then parts of the wagon had to be changed to suit 
the oxen, as they were now to make the voyage across the 
plains with cattle instead of horses. 

One bright May morning, they took down their tent, 
packed their bedding, loaded the wagon, yoked up the 
cattle, and began their long, long tramp across the continent. 
Numerous other emigrant trains were stretching their way 
over the rolling prairies to the westward, and the undula- 
ting road was dotted with the white-covered wagons of 
their old neighbors of the canvas settlements by the Mis- 
souri liiver. Looking behind, they saw, with a little pang 
of regret, the well-beaten spot w^here they had made their 
home so long. Around that place still lingered a few emi- 
grants, who waved their hats to them by way of cheer, as 
the long procession of adventurers wound its way over the 
ridges. Beyond and behind was the flowing river ; the 
bluffs which give their name to the town bounded the 
horizon, and beyond these was the past life of these young 
fellows, with all its struggles ; there was home. 

Before them lay the heart of the continent with if« 
mysteries, diSiculties, and dangers. They tramped on 
right bravely, for beneath the blue horizon that lured them 
forward v'ere wealth, fame, adventure, and — what thes^ 
bright young spirits most longed for — opportunities for 
making their own way in the world. At any rate, thej 
had turned their backs on civilization and home. 













THE TENT LIKE A HUGE BALLOON 



\ 


# 


i 


ADRIFl 


59 


Their patience was tested somewhat severely during 
tlieir very tirst week on the track across the continenU 
They expected disagreeable things, and they found them. 
They had been traveling through a rolling country, dcsti* 
tule of timber and dotted with only a few bunches oi 
brushwood by the creeks. Barney, Arthur, and Tom took 
turns at driving the team. Mont strode on ahead. lii 
and Johnny “ changed off” with riding Old Jim, for whose 
back a saddle had been traded” for at the BlufPs. The 
young emigrants were in first-rate spirits, and when a light 
rain came up at night, they laughed blithely over the 
pros[>ect of soon getting used to the “ hardships” of which 
they had been so often warned. It was discouraging 
work, however, cooking supper; for, by the time they had 
camped, the rain fell in torrents. They got their camp- 
stove into the tent, and, by running out its one joint of 
pipe through the open entrance, they managed to start a 
fire. More smoke went into the tent than out of it, f(jr 
the wind had veered al)out and blew directly into it. Then 
they decided to strike the tent and change it around so as 
to face to the leeward. This was a difficult job to do while 
the rain fell and wind blew. But the boys packed their 
camp stuff together as well as they could, and took down 
the tent. 

“ Hold on tight, boys ! ” shouted Barnard, cheerily, for 
the canvas was flapping noisily in the wind, and threat- 
ened to fly away befoie it could be secured. Aity held 
np cue pole and Barnard the other, while Mont, Ili, and 
Tom ran around to pin the canvas to the earth, Johnny 
following with the bag of tent-pins. Just then a tre« 
rnendous gust came, and away flew the tent like a huge 
balloon, jerking Tom head over heels as it went. Pocr 
little Johnny clung to it desperately, having caught hold 


56 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


of one jf the ropes as it went whirling over his head 
lie was dragged a short distance and gave it up, his handi 
being cut and torn by the line. 

“Stop her! stop her!” yelled Hi, and away they all 
ran after the flying canvas. The cattle were coweiing 
undej* the lee of a few bushes across the road, and tho 
apparition of the collapsed tent coming over their heads, 
startled them so that they ran wildly in all directions. 
Tlie cow was caught by the horns, a fold of the tent-cloth 
having been entangled on them, and she set off, frantically 
bellowing, across the prairie. The canvas by this time 
was so wet and heavy that it could not be dragged far, 
and, when the boys came up, poor Molly was a prisoner 
They rescued their fugitive house, and, in a sorry plight 
took it back to where their camp was now exposed to f 
pelting rain. 

“Ain’t this fun, Arty?” said Hi, grimly, when they 
were once more under cover. 

“Fun alive 1 ” replied Arty ; “ and so long as we have a 
roof over us for the niglit, we are in great luck. But how 
we are ever to get supper is more tJian I know.” 

“ Supper ? ” retorted Barnard. “ I’d like to know where 
we arc going to sleep to-night. Every inch of ground is 
sopping wet, and no fire that we can build will dry it. ” 

“ We can get a good fire in the stove,” said Mont, saga* 
ciously, “ and keep moving it about until we dry the worst 
of it; and, when it stops raining, it will drain off a great 
deal. But it docs not look much like holding up,” he 
added, as he looked out at the sheets of rain. “ And if it 
don’t hold up, we may as well not go to bed at all.” 

Indeed, the prospect was rather gloomy, and the yountf 
emigrants began to think themselves early introduced to 
ilie disagreeable part of their trip. They managed tc 


ADRIFT. 


57 


keep up a roaring fire in their camp-stove, however, and 
the air in the tent was dry and warm. They made tea, 
and fried their meat, and with dry crackers secured a 
tolerable meal. By midnight the rain abated and ceased 
flowing under the canvas. They then lay down on llie 
damp blankets, and slept as best they might. Toward 
morning Arty awoke, and, hearing the rain un the canvas 
roof, reached out his hand and found the ground near by 
covered with water. Water was everywhere around him. 
lie lay in a puddle which had accumulated under him. At 
first, he thought he would turn over and find a dry spot. 
But he immediately discovered that that would not be a 
good plan. Ho had warmed the water next him with the 
natural heat of his body. To turn over was to find a 
colder place. So he kept still and slept again as soundly 
as if he were not in a small pond of water. 

They were wakened after sunrise by the sound of 
wagons driving by. Jumping up from their damp beds, 
the young emigrants found themselves somewhat be- 
draggled and unkempt. But the rain had ceased, the 
sun was shining brightly, and what discomfort can long 
withstand the influence of a fair day, sunshine, and a 
warm wind ? 

The cattle, fastened up the night before to the wagon- 
wheels, were lowing for freedom ; and the boys were at 
once ready to begin preparations for another day’s journey. 
They spread their bedding and spare clothing in the sun- 
fil/me, brought out their camp-stove, built a fire, and had 
a jolly breakfast with hot biscuits and some of the little 
luxuries of camp fare. 

All that day the boys traveled with their blankets 
spread over the wagon-top, in order to dry them in the hot 
sun ; but not one of the party complained of the discom- 


58 


THE BO 1 EMlGHANTa. 


fortB of the previous night, nor showed any sign of being 
any worse for sleeping in the rain. 

‘‘ It gets me, Mont,'’ said Ili Fender, that a city feher 
like you, should put up with such an uncommon hard night 
without growling.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing when you get used to it,” said Mont, 
liglitly. 

“ But you are getting used to it sooner than I am,” re- 
plied Barnard, with admiration for the young city fellow’s 
pluck. 

‘‘ There ain’t much such accommodations in Boston, I 
allow ? ” said Hi. ‘‘ No sleepin’ out in canvas tents, with 
the water creeping under your blankets, in that village, 
is there ? ” 

“Well, no; but we cannot bring city ways out on tlie 
plains, 3^011 know, Ili ; and as long as we have a canvas 
roof over us, we ought to be satisfied and thankful. Jly 
the wa}^, I wonder how those Pike County fellows got 
on last night. They intend to sleep in their wagon when 
they have reduced their load, but they sleep on the ground 
now. Must have found it a little damp last night.” 

Barnard thought that Bush, with Iiis heifer and go-cart, 
would be worse off than anybod}^ they knew. Bush was a 
jolly emigrant, travelling all alone with a hand-cart fixed 
up with shafts, into which was harnessed a young cow. 
Jle had cpiarrelled with his partner at Council Bluffs, 
and bad gone off in a fit of disgust, Ilis entire wordly 
wealth was packed into the little cart, with one or two 
Racks of flour, some “ side meat,” beans, and coffee. Ilis 
cooking ap|)aratus consisted of a frying-pan and a tin pot, in 
which latter useful utensil he made his coffee and cooked 
everything that could not be cooked in his frjdng-pan. 

I dou!^^ believe Bush put in much time singing last 


ADRIFT. 59 

night,’* said Tom. “If his fiddle wasn’t drowned out, he 
was, I’ll jnst bet.” 

“ There he is now ! ” said Arty, and as lie spoke tliey saw 
Ihish’s tall form stalking beside his queer little team, and 
rising over a swell of the prairie, just ahead. 

At camping-time that irght they overtook Bush, who 
was as gay and lighr-spiritcd as ever. He hailed the boya 
w ith heartiness, and begged the privilege of baking a cake 
of dough ii? their camp-stove. 

“ Tlie fact is, boys,” he explained, “ me and Sukey had 
a rough time of it last night, and I guess a hot corn-dodger 
w’ill help ns both mightily. Hey, Suke ! ” he said, lovingly 
for Bush and his vicious little cow were on very good terms, 

“ Rain ? ” he said in answer to the boys’ inquiries. 
“ Rain ? Oh, no, I guess not. It didn’t rain at all wwth 
mentioning. It jest came down on the run. Well, it did. 
I ci’awded under the go-cart, where the water wa’n’t more 
than a foot deep. It wasn’t dry quarters ; but I could have 
got along as gay as you please only for my legs. They’re 
so all-fired lengthy that they stuck out and got wet. WJien 
I pulled ’em in, my head stuck out, and when I pulled 
my head in agin, my legs stuck out. Pity about them lege^ 
ain’t it, boys?” he added, looking down at his canvas- 
covered limbs. “ Howsomever, I thought of you chaps 
I’m used to it, but you Boston fellers ain’t seasoned yet. 
I was camping by myself over behind the divide, to keep 
out of the wet, and when I saw your tent get up and dust, 
I started to lend you a hand. But youcorraled the ))esky 
thing before I could get to you.” 

“ Much obleeged, I’m sure,” said Hi. “But we caught 
Her on the critter’s head afore she went far.” 

“Yes, yes, a tent’s a mighty onhandy thing, I do bo 
hove. Good enough for them that can’t get along without 


60 


THE BOY EMIORANTa. 


It ; but as for me, as the revolutionary feller said, giinni® 
liberty or gimme death. I’d rather sleep out o’ doors.’' 

“ Queer feller, that Bush,” said Hi, when they were 
squatted about their camp-table at supper-time. “He’s 
tough as sole-leather and chipper as a cricket. And he 
allows to go clean througli to Californy with that ’ere go- 
-cart and heifer. Why, the Mormons will steal him, his 
cow, and his cart, and all, if he ever gets so far as Salt 
Lake.” 

They’ll be smart, then, for he sleeps with both eyes 
open,” said Barnard, who admired Bush very much. 

They were camped in a low, flat bottom, by the river 
Platte. Tall cotton-wooas fringed the river-bank, on the 
north side of which the emigrant road then ran. Here 
were wood, water, and grass, in plenty ; and at this gener- 
ous camping-ground many emigrants pitched their tents for 
the night. After supper was over, the boys strolled out 
among the camps and enjoyed the novel sight. The emi- 
grants had now got into the ways of the plains — were 
doing their own cooking and washing, and put on their 
roughest manners and roughest clothes, and were already 
beginning to talk about the Indians. The Cheyennes, it was 
said, were very troublesome just beyond Fort Laramie; 
and it was reported that one party of emigrants had 
been attacked near the Point of Bocks, and all hands 
killed. 

At one camp-fire where our boys lingered. Bush was the 
centre of a large party, to whom he was singing his one 
great song, ‘‘ Lather and Shave.” It was a famous song 
of many verses — ninety-nine. Bush said ; but he never had 
time to sing them all, though often invited to give them. 
His violin had so far survived all misadventures, and fur- 
nished lively music for the company. One handsome 


ADRIFT, 61 

young fellow, with a tremendous voice, sang a ditty about 
emigrating to the gold mines, of which tlie refrain was : 

“ Ho I ho ! aud tho way we go, 

Digging up the gold on the Saciamento 1 ” 

All tlie bystanders and loungers joined in this chonia 
vitii spirit, the last syllabic of Sacramento being shot out 
with a will — “ Toe 1 ’’ 

At another camp, they found a forlorn little woman 
dandling a child on her knee, sitting on a wagon-tongue, 
wiiile her husband was trying to get supper under her 
directions. The tire would not burn, the man was awk- 
ward, and his patience seemed clean gone as he finally 
squatted back on the gi'ound and caught his breath, after 
blowing at the tire until he was red in the face. 

‘‘Yes, we’ve had a powerful bad streak of luck,” he 
complained. “ First, she took sick at the Bluffs,” he said, 
jerking his head toward the woman on the wagon-tongue. 
Tliat kep’ us there nigh onto a month ; and my pard, lie 
got out of patience and lit out and left us. Then the 
young one up and had tho cholery yesterday, and we broke 
down in that thar slew just beyond Papes’s, and w'e liad to 
double up teams twicet that day. And now then this yere 
blamed fire won’t burn, and we be agoin’ to Calif orny. 
We be,” he added, with great sarcasm. “ I never could 
build a fire ; hit’s woman’s work, hit is ! Oh, look at yer, 
smolderin’ and smudgin’ thar 1 ” he continued, addressing 
the sulky fire. With a sudden burst of rage, he kicked 
the smoking embers to the right and left witl^ his heavy 
boots, and said, “ Blast Californy 1 ” 

“ Here, let me try,” said Tom. “ I’m /ignt smart at 
fire bildin’ ; ” and the boy gathered the half -charred 
^moei'C together, and deftly fanned a llamc fnun them bf 


62 


THE BCY EmORABTS. 


wafting his hat before tlie coals, into wliich he poked 
some dry steins and grass. The tire recovered itself 
cheerily, and the man looked down on Tom’s stooj)ing 
tigure with a sort of unwilling admiration. Arthur did 
not like the looks of a husband who seemed so indiflerent 
to his wife and baby. 

“ Here, give me the baby,” said the boy ; “ I’ll tend it 
while you get your supper. And, Mister, you had better 
look after your cattle. 1 see they’ve got all snarled up 
with that ox-chain.” 

“ Drat the cattle ! ” said the man ; and he went off to 
swear at tlie poor beasts which had managed to turn tlieii 
yokes and worry themselves generally into a tangle, while 
waiting for thtffr master to take care of them for the 
night. 

“ Don’t mind him,” sighed tlie woman, relinquishing 
the sick baby to his volunteer nurse. ‘‘Don’t mind him. 
lie’s got a right smart of a temper, and he do get con- 
trairywise when things goes contrairywise, and the good 
Lord knows they have gone contrairywise ever since we 
left the States. Now trot the young one easy-like, if he 
hollers, and I’ll just rattle up some supper for my ole 
man.” 

Arty held the baby as tenderly as he could, softly moving 
up and down on his knee the unpleasant-looking feather 
pillow on which it was laid. A tall young girl came 
around from behind the wagon; looked at the emigrant’fli 
wile, who was kneading biscuit, kneeling on the giound; 
looked at Arthur, who was crooning a little song to the 
lick baby ; and then she remarked: 

“ Goodness, gracious me ! ” 

“ Nance ! ” said Arthur, looking up. 

“ Yes, it’s Nance,’' retorted the tall young girl, with 


ADRIFT. 


63 


«ome asperity. ‘‘ Leastways, I’m called sicL by feiks that 
haven’t got no more manners than tliey liave room for.” 

“ Beg pardon, Miss Nancy. But you surprise me so, 
fou know.” 

“ I suppose you don’t allow I’m surprised. Oh im, not 
Ihe leastest bit. You a-tending baby out here on the 
perarie! Ilowsomever, I like it, 1 like it I I declare to 
gracious, I do! ” she added in a milder tone. “ It’s just 
what boys are fit for. Hope you’ve learned to make brea<l 
by this time. Scalded their Hour, the ornery critters 1 Oh, 
my ! ” and, overcome by the recollection of that first 
great experiment of the boys when in Iowa, the tall young 
girl sat down on the wagon-tongue and doubled herself up 
again. 

Never mind,” she said, disengaging herself from her 
laugh. If you’ll come over to our camp. I’ll give yon 
some yeast — real hop-yeast; brought it all the way fu 
loway myself. It’s good enough to bust the cover of you^ 
camp-kettle off.” 

‘‘Your camp! Are you going to California?” asked 
Arthur, with surprise. 

“ Goin^ to Californy ! Of course we be. What else do 
you suppose we’d be campin’ out here on the Platte, miles 
and miles away from home, for ? ” 

“ But how did you pass us ? ” 

“ Couldn’t say. Dad, he allowed he wouldn’t stop at 
the Bluffs more’n one day. Oh, he’s got the gold fever 
just awful ! ” 

“ Was he thinking of going to California when wo 
passed your place in Iowa ! ” 

“Couldn’t say. He seen the folks piling by on the 
emigrant road, bound to the gold mines. He used to set 
on the fence and swap lies with ’em by the hour, and ma 


64 


THE BOf EMIGRANTS. 


just hol.erin’ at him from the back-door all the while. Oh 
mv ! wasn’t she mad, though 1 ” 

‘‘ Didn’t she want to come ? ” 

‘‘ Not at first ; but she got to talking with some of the 
woii^en-folks on the road, and then she and dad talked 
gold all night and all day. They jest got wild. So ono 
day, dad, lie let the place, picked up his traps, bundled ua 
into the wagon, and here we be.” 

“ How do you like it, as far as you’ve got ? ” asked Tom, 
wlio by this time had become very much interested in 
Nance’s story. 

“ Pretty tolerble-like. How’s yerself ? ” 

“ Oh, it*8 pretty good fun, all but washing dishes,” 
replied Tom, bashfully. 

“ Washin’ dishes! ” retorted the girl, with great scorn. 

And you call yer handful of tin plates and things washin’ 
dishes. Don’t I wish you had to do up the dishes I had 
at home in loway 1 Oh, it’s real persimmons, this, — just 
nothing to do. Barefooted, you see,” and Nance put out 
a brown foot, to show that she had left her shoes with 
civilization. 

“Where’s your other fellers?” she asked, — “ sj^ecially 
that one that scalded his flour ? ” 

Arthur explained that they were about the camps, 
having tarried where Bush was playing his violin for a 
“ stag dance,” as it was called, down by the cotton- woods. 

“Well, you come over to our camp to-morrow, early, 
and I’ll give you some real hop-yeast. It’s worth a hull 
raft of bakin’ powder and self -risers. We’re off at sun-up 
Bo long 1 ” And Nance was gone. 

Eight smart chance of a gal, that,” commented the 
emigrant, whose anger had cooled, and who was sittini? on 
an ox -yoke contentedly smoking his pipe. 


ADRIFT. 


m 

“So Miss Sunbonuet is going to California, is she?” 
said Barnard, when the boys related their interview with 
that young woman. 

“ Ves,” replied Arthur, remembering Nance’s Browr 
foot ; “ she’s going a-digging up the gold on the Sfxrameib 

- -toe 1 


THE nor emioraetr 


M 


CHAPTER VII. 

TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 

The next few days of travel were very vvearisonio and 
tedious. The road was a dull level, stretching along hy 
the banks of the Platte River. Repeated rains had 
made the ground soft, and the teams moved with great 
diflicnlty, for all of the emigrants wei-e loaded heavily. 
Fi-om Council Bluffs to Salt Lake City was an uninter- 
ru])ted wilderness, with only here and there a little 
ti’ading-post. The provisions consumed on the trip could 
not be replaced until the Mormon capital was reached ; 
and even at that })lace only flour and meat could be 
i>ought at reasonable prices. So the supplies of groceries, 
clothing, and small goods needed for the journey must 
last from the Missouri to the Sacramento. 

The weather was warm, and our young emigrants found 
it vci*y uncomfortable trudging along in the heat of the 
day, with the sun’s rays pouring down upon them. Hi 
grumbled a great deal at the disagreeable tilings he had 
to encounter. It was disagreeable walking, and disagree- 
able driving. It was particularly disagreeable to be pur- 
sued as they were by mosquitoes. At night, while they 
camped in the flat valley of the Platte, these pests were 
siinjdy intolerable. 

“ Let’s make a smudge, boys,” said Barnard, one night, 
when tliey had in vain tried to eat their supper in com- 
fort. Clouds of mosquitoes hovered about their heads, 


TROUBLE IN THE GAMP. 67 

filling their eyes, ears, and noses, and making the aii 
shrill with their music. 

We might as well be smoked to death as stung to 
death,” growled Hi. “ I never see anything so disagree- 
able. It’s wuss than small-pox.” 

So the boys collected some hazel-boughs and grass 
made a tire on tlie ground and covered it with the gi een 
stuff, and soon had a thick “ smudge ” of stifling smoke 
about them. The mosquitoes seemed to cough a little 
among themselves, and then they gradually withdrew in 
disgust. 

“ That worries the pests,” said Mont. ‘‘ 1 think I see 
five or six hundred of them on that hazel brush, waiting 
for the thing to blow over ; then they will make another 
rush at us.” 

“ Yes,” added Hi, “ and there’s one big he feller ; I see 
him now, cavorting through the under-brush like mad. 
He got some smoke in his left eye, and he’ll make us 
smart for it when he comes back. Ugh! ugh! but this 
smoke is wuss than git-out. I can’t stand it no longer ! ” 
— and Hi, choking with the effects of the “smudge,” 
seized his plate of bread and bacon, and ran. The others 
stayed as long as they could, and then left everything and 
retired to a little distance from the fire. The mosquitoes 
were ready for them, and descended upon them in 
millions. 

The boys, finishing their supper as best they might, got 
inside the tent, leaving a circle of smoking fire-heaps all 
about it. Sleep was impossible that night. They visited 
some of the neighboring camps, of which there were a 
great many; and everybody was fighting mosquitoes. 
Smoldering fires all about were kindled, and public feel- 
ing ran ^'ery high against the great nuisance of the night 


68 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS, 


One raan remarked that there ought to be a mass-meeting 
called and resolutions passed. Another suggested tlial 
the mosquitoes were the original settlers on the place, and 
that they had rights which even a white man was oound 
to respect. 

During the night, too, the cattle, which were chained 
up as usual, were so frantic with the annoyance that they 
were in danger of injuring themselves. They ran to and 
fro with their short allowance of chain, snorted, tore the 
earth, and lashed themselves into a frenzy. It was de- 
cided to unyoke them and take the chances of finding 
them in the morning. ‘^Tige,’’ as soon as he was at 
liberty, walked deliberately up to one of the smudge fires, 
where he turned his tail toward it and stood contentedly 
chewing his cud. 

‘‘ Sagacious Tige,” said Mont, I believe I will follow 
your example.” 

Tige appreciated this compliment, apparentlyj for he 
lay down, having tested the value of smoke as a shield 
against mosquitoes. Mont rolled himself in his blanket 
and lay down by another fire, and managed to sleep 
almost as well as Tige. The others did the same, though 
it was hard work to keep up the fires and find sleep also. 
Arthur woke up long before daybreak, with the insects 
buzzing and stinging about his face. He jumped up in 
sheer desperation and ran wildly out on the level road, 
half a mile or more, without stopping. He could hear 
the bodies of the mosquitoes striking on his hat as he tied 
Then he turned and ran back again, leaving a long train 
of the pests behind him. But they caught up with him 
by the time he had reached the camp. In despair, he 
covered his head with a blanket, and sat down by a tree 
trunk to sleep again, having first stirred up a good smudge 


TROUBLE IN THE CAMP, 


69 


for Tige, who looked on complacently at this provision 
for his comfort. Arthur stooped and brushed a few 
mosquitoes from Tige’s black muzzle, and the steer looked 
n}> at him intelligently, as if to say, “Hard lines, those, 
my boy/’ 

“ Arouse ye ! arouse ye 1 my meny Swiss boys 1 ” sang 
Mont, bright and early next morning, while the rest of 
the party were yet struggling with mosquitoes in their 
dreams. “ We have a long drive to the crossing of Loup 
Foi’k, to-day ; and if we don’t get there in good season, 
we shall have to wait a whole day to get a chance on the 
ferry.” 

The boys turned out of their various lairs with many 
expressions of discomfort. They had just had a tiresome 
day’s travel and almost no rest at all. The air was now 
moist and warm, with the promise of another hot day. 
Tliey were smarting with mosquito bites, and were gen- 
erally uncomfortable. 

“ Well, I allow this is reely disagreeable,” said Hi, lialf 
sitting up, clasping his hands across his knees, and looking 
excessively miserable. 

The picture of Hi, squatted tliere forlornly, with his hat 
crumpled over his head, his face blotched with bites, ana 
his eyes heavy with sleep, was too funny for Barnard, who 
laughed outright and said : 

“ Well, I declare. Hi, but you do look like the very 
last rose of summer that ever was I ” 

“ See here, Barney Crogan I ” said Hi, angrily, “ I don’t 
want none of your sass. And I jest give you notice of 
that.” 

“ What are you going to do about it ? ” sharply replied 
Barnard, who felt his anger rising. “ You sit there like 


TO 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


ft hump on a log, saying that things are ‘ disagreeable, 
and T don’t sec that that helps it.” 

^ Well, I don’t want anybody’s chin about it — that’# 



HIBAM. 


what I don't want. And I allow I ain’t agoin’ to stand 
no nonsense from a feller that don’t take his regular B|‘eJj 
at dri\dn’. ’ 


TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 


71 


What do you mean said Barnard, advancing threat- 
eningly toward Hi, who, by this time, had risen to hia 
feet and stood with his blanket still clinging about him. 
“What do you mean? If you mean to say that 1 don’t 
do my share of work. I’ll — ” 

“Uh, 6t(»p! stop! boys,” interposed Mont. “There’s 
really no use of cpiarreling. I suppose wo all feel croea 
and unhappy, after such a miserable night. I’m sure 1 
do. But we needn’t quarrel.” 

“ Who’s quarrelin’, I’d like to know. I ain’t. It’s 
that stuck-up — ” 

But before he had time to finish his sentence, Mont had 
playftilly ])ut his hand on Hi’s mouth, saying : 

“Well, I know I am a stuck-up Boston chap, but Fil 
try to get over it.” 

Barnard was secretly amuacd at this ingenious turn, but 
he was too angry to say anything, and he turned his atten- 
tion to the cattle. 

Tom and Johnny, the latter somewhat alarmed at the 
warlike appearance of things in cainj), scoured the under- 
brush for dry wood for their breakfast fire. 

“ If Barney had sassed me like that,” commented Tom, 
when out of earshot of his elders, “ I would have punched 
his head for him.” 

“ Appears to me that Hi had no cause to fire up so — 
Barney didn’t mean anything ; and I’m sure Hi did look 
queer-like, sitting there with his hat mussed and his head 
all swelled up.” 

“ I’ll swell your head for ye, yer ongrateful little weasel 
Yer always takin’ Grogan’s side ” — and Tom dealt him a 
blow behind the ear. Johnny tumbled over a clump of 
brush, crying, not so much with pain as with anger and 


73 


THE BOY EMIGRANTtL 


nQortification. Tom only muttered, You can’t sass me, 
you know.” 

Loaded with tlieir fuel, they went back to the camp, 
where Arthur, with a lowering brow% was busy over the 
lire, making ready for breakfast. 

Wliat’s the matter with you ? ” he asked with amaze- 
ment and some asperity, as he noticed the tears on Johnny’s 
face.” 

I punched his head for his sass,” said Tom, defiantly. 

Without a word, Arthur banged Tom over the head with 
the sheet-iron stove-cover, which he happened to have in 
his hand. The boy felt tlie indignity, for his face was 
covered with soot and his eyes smarted. But, before he 
could get at Arthur, who stood by the stove, his eyes 
sparkling, and his lithe young form swelling with anger, 
Mont seized Tom and drew him away. Johnny threw him- 
self on Arty and entreated him not to fight on his account, 
meanwhile protesting that it was nothing at all. 

Luckily, the other late combatants were not at hand, and 
Mont, helping Tom to remove the soot from his face and 
hair, soothed his angry feelings and asked liim to promise 
to leave off quarreling. 

“You shouldn’t have struck little Johnny ; you know 
that, Tom. lie is a little chap, much smaller than you, and 
it was a cowardly thing for you to knock him over.” 

“ But that’s no reason why Art should whack me over 
tJio snoot with a griddle,” answered the lad. 

“ Certainly not, certainly not; but he did that in a mo 
ment of passion. I dare say he is sony for it by this time. 
If he is not, I shall be sorry for Arty ; he usually means to 
do what is right. It was wrong for him to strike you ; 
there’s no doubt about that. But you will forgive him, ij 
he asks you ? ” 


TROUBLE IN THE CAMP. 73 

“I allow he won’t ask,” said Tom, with great griinnesa 

“ But if he does ? ” 

All right, let him come on. I’m ready for him^ 
anyway.” 

It was not a merry party which sat down to breakfast 
together that morning. Mont found it diflScult to keep up 
an animated conversation. Hi had only one word, and that 
was ‘‘ disagreeable.” Perhaps they should not have eaten 
much breakfast, as the usual result of bad feelings is to 
destroy one’s appetite. On the plains this rule does not 
always hold good. I am bound to say that they ate very 
heartily, for they had had almost no supper on the night 
before. 

When the cattle were yoked up and the caravan was 
ready to move, Mont picked up the whip and said, with a 
cheery look at the others : 

“ Let me drive to-day.” 

“ You can’t, ” said Hi, stiffly, but not unkindly. 

“ Let me try,” and Mont moved off with the team as 
steadily as if he had driven oxen all his life. He had 
watched the driving of Hi and Barnard, and had practised 
some with the cattle when they w’ere turned out at noon, 
yoked b^gether, for a short rest. Molly, the skittish little 
cow, would occasionally ‘‘ gee,” or bolt out of the track, 
which was always a great source of annoyance even to Hi, 
for Molly was on the off ” side, and it was sometimes 
necessary to run around the head of the cattle to get the 
mischievous animal back into the track again. But Mont 
got on capitally ; he walked by the side of the docile and 
knowing Tige, who seemed able to keep all the rest of the 
team in go(<i spirits. Tige was fond of potatoes, sugar 
oread, and many other luxuries usually denied to cattle j 
and Mont kept on good terms with the queer little steel 
4 


74 


THE BOY EMIORANIH. 


by carrying the odda and ends of his own rations in hii 
pocket for Tige. 

But even Tigc’s good-nature, combined with Mont’s, 
could not cheer up the rest of the party. Little Johnny, 
perched on old Jim’s back, paced along beside the wagon, 
never galloping off on brief excursions by the roadside, as 
he usually did when allowed to ride the horse. Hi 
trudged along sulkily behind ; Arthur walked on ahead 
to Loup Fork Ferry; and Barney, in defiance of rules 
and usage, climbed into the wagon, where, on top of the 
load and close against the wagon-bows, he went to sleep. 

Before noon they reached the ferry, so long looked for 
and talked about. The Loup is one of the forks of tlio 
Platte, and in those days it was crossed by a rope-ferry, 
which some enterprising man had put in there. A long 
scow, large enough to take on two wagons, with the usual 
number of cattle, slid across the stream, attached by slings 
and pulleys to a rope tightly stretched from shore to shore. 
The current was swift, and, by keeping the scow partly 
headed up stream, the pressure forced the unwieldy craft 
across. 

Here were numerous teams waiting their chance to 
cross, each being numbered in turn. Some of them had 
waited two days for their turn to come; but to-day their 
number had been reduced by the departure of sevei*^! 
who had gone to a place farther up the Fork, where it was 
je ported that a ford had been found. Our party ascer- 
taijied that they could cross by sundown ; so they un- 
hitched their cattle and waited, having first paid the ten 
dollars for ferriage which the avaricious ferry -keeper 
demanded for each team. 

The young fellows took this opportunity to rest. Bar 
nard sat lazily on the bank angling for catfish. Hi 


TJSOUBLE /jV rnh CAMi\ 


/A 

climbed into the wagon and went to sleep, Mont enattod 
with the ferrv-inaster, who sat in the doorway of his log 
hut and surveyed the busy scene below him with the air 
of a wealthy proprietor. 

‘‘ 1 should suppose that you would get the gold fever, 
seeing so many people pressing on to the mines,” said 
Mont. 

The ferryman chuckled, and waving his pipe toward 
the rude ferry, said : 

“ Tliar’s my gold mine. Ten dollars a pop.” 

Yes, that’s so. 1 suppose you are making a mint of 
money.” 

‘‘ Not so dreffle much, not so drefUr much,” the man 
replied uneasily. ‘‘Ye see, rrpa'rs ana w’ar and t’ar are 
mighty bindin’ on a man, cl’ar out hyar on the plains. 
Why, I hev to go cl’ar to K’arney for every scrap of any- 
thing.” 

“ But your receipts must be enormous. Let me see 
You can make at least twelve trips a day ; you get, say 
twenty dollars a trip, sometimes more, and that is two 
hundred and forty dollars a day.” 

“ Powerful smart on tiggers you be, young feller,” said 
the man, and he laughed with a cunning leer in his eye 
at Mont. 

Meanwhile, Tom leaned over the slight fence with 
wliich the ferryman had inclosed his “ garding,” as he 
called it. The boy coveted the young onions just begin- 
ning to show tlieir bulbs half out of the warm soil ; and he 
neditated on the scarcity of potatoes which their appetites 
were making in their own stores. Arthur came up and 
laid his hand on Tom’s shoulder, and looked over too. 

“ Lx^ks something like home, don’t it, Tom ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Tom. “ I was just a-thinkin’ how dad 


76 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


never would plant garden truck. Always ^ heat, wheal 
wlieat. Blast the wheat, when a feller has to go to th€ 
neighbors for garden sass.” 

“ Bat, then, we sometimes get ‘sass ’ without going foi 
it,” said Arty, with a smile. 

Tom’s face darkened at this allusion to the diflicultica 
of the morning ; but Arty continued : 

“ I am real sorry, Tom, that I struck you as I did. It 
was awful mean, and I didn’t intend it.” 

‘‘ Yes, you did. How else could you done it ? ” 

‘^Well, Tom, it’s a hard case to explain. My hand 
just flew up before I knew what I was about. The first 
thing I knew I had hit you. Come now, I assure you I 
am sorry, and I want to make up.” 

“ All right,” grumbled Tom. 

“You forgive me, honor bright? Well, give us youi 
hand.” 

Tom looked around awkwardly at Arthur, for he had 
kept his eyes fixed on the onion-bed during this brief dia- 
logue. He glanced into Arthur’s pleasant^ boyish face, 
and said frankly: 

“Quits 1 we’ll call it sc^uare, and there’s my fist on it.” 

As the sun began to drop behind the horizon, the turn 
for our young party to ci’oss came at last. They had 
waited nearly ten hours, and were right glad when they 
were able to see the way across clear for them. The scow 
could not reach the farther shore, as there was a long 
shallow all along that side. So the clumsy ci-aft was run 
across until it grounded ; then a wooden flap or apron waa 
let down, and the teams w’cre driven out into the water 
wading the rest of the way. It was a poor way of cross- 
ing a stream, but it was the best practicable then and 
there. 


TROUBLE IN THE GAMP. 


71 


With much hallooing, shouting, and running hither and 
thither, the cattle were driven into the scow. The current 
was swift, and the channel deep ; the crossing looked 
perilous, especially when the cattle were restive. Molly 
was particularly troublesome, and Hi went around on that 
side to quiet her. She would not be quieted, and with 
one vicious toss of her horns, she lifted Hi by his leather 
belt. In an instant he was overboard, struggling in the 
stream. 

No one else was on that side of the boat ; but Bai*ney 
saw the accident, and exclaiming, He can’t swim I he 
can’t swim I ” rushed around to the rear of the craft, pull- 
ing off his clothes as he ran. 

All was confusion, the scow being crowded with men, 
cattle, and teams. The frail craft quivered in the tide, 
while the startled boatmen were puzzled what to do. 
Diving under the rear wagon, Barney reached the gunwale 
of the boat just in time to see Hi’s hands clutch ineffec- 
tually at the edge. He made a lunge and seized one hand 
as it disappeared, and, falling on his knees, reached over 
and seized Hi’s shoulders. 

“ Never mind, Barney boy, I’m on bottom,” said Hi. 
Just then he stood on his feet, and the boat grounded on 
the shoal. 

Barnard drew a long sigh of relief, and looked for an 
instant straight down into Hi’s blue eyes. They were 
friends again. 

Hi was helped on board, none the worse for his unex- 
pected ducking. They drove off the scow, waded across 
the shoal, and struggled up the bank with much turmoil 
and bother. They camped near the river, and surrounded 
themselves with a cordon of smudge-fires. The m()S(]ui 
toes troubled them very much ; but, notwithstanding that, 


/ 



78 


THE BOY EMI0RANT8. 


they passed the evening cheerily. Tom observed, with 
much inward surprise, that Hi had exchanged his wot 
clotlies for a spare suit of Barney’s. 

And yet Hi had clothes enough of his own. 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


75 


CHAPTER VHL 

SOME NEW ACQUAINTAN0E8. 

Fob many days after leaving Columbus, as the ferryman 
facetiously called his log-house, our emigrants traveled 
with an immense company. One train alone had nearly 
two hundred head of cattle, either in yoke or loose, and 
fifteen wagons. It was a brave sight to see this long cara- 
van winding along the track, with its white-covered wagons 
gleaming in the sun, and the animals walking along behind 
in the most orderly manner. Many of the men were on 
horseback, and skirmished to the rear, to the front, or by 
the flanks of the train as it moved. Arthur declared that 
it looked like a traveling circus or menagerie, a compari- 
son which was made more striking by the dress of the 
emigrants. They wore all sorts of queer garments, which 
they had picked up from abandoned camps. In those 
days of the gold rush, people were reckless about waste, and 
the trail was strewn, in many places, with valuable goods, 
thrown away by emigrants who were in such haste to get 
on that they were continually overhauling their loads to 
see what they could leave behind to lighten them. 

These things were picked up by those who came after 
only to be again thrown out for others to find and reject. 
One of the emigrants, attached to this long Missouri ti-ain, 
wore a woman’s straw bonnet, of the Shaker pattern, with 
jL large green cape. Another was decorated with a richly 
embroidered hunting- frock, of Pawnee make ; and hs 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


ftO 

wore a black silk stove-pipe ” hat, surmounted with a tall 
eagle-plume. Some of the women of this company rode 
well, and one little girl, riding a licry Texan pony, seated 
astride, excited much admiration by her skilful manage- 
ment of her steed. A party of Pawnees, who had lodges, 
or tepees,” near by, grouped themselves on a little knoll 
and gazed on this passing show with great solemnity. 

At camping-time, some of these red children of the 
desert came to the tent of onr young emigrants begging 
and selling moccasins. The Pawnee moccasin is a plain, 
inartistic affair, shaped almost exactly like the foot of a 
stocking, with one seam running from the heel downward 
and lengthwise through the sole and up to the instep over 
the toe. But as these were the first of ‘‘ wild Indian ” 
manufacture that the boys had ever seen, each was eager 
to secure at least one pair. 

The Indians were dressed in buckskin hunting-shirts 
and leggings, were bareheaded, and wore a coarse blanket 
slung about tliem. One of them produced from a dirty 
buckskin pouch a piece of paper, which he impressively 
submitted to Mont, as the apparent leader of the party, 
saying, as he did so, Heap good Indian me 1 ” The 
paper read as follows : 

This Indian, Mekonee, otherwise known as The-Man-that Champs- 
with his-Teeth, wants a recommendation. I give it with pleasure. Ha 
in a lying, thieving, vagabond Pawnee. He will steal the tiies off of 
foor wagon- wheels and the buttons from your trousers. Watch him. 

(Signed) Jake Dawson, 

And thirteen others of the Franklin Grove Company. 

‘‘Heap good Indian me,” said The-Man-that-Champs- 
with-his-Teeth, when the boys had examined liis document. 

‘‘Oh, yes,” said Ili, “I allow you aie tlie 'mly good 
Indian that ain’t dead yet.” 


SOME NE^^ ACQUAINTANCES. 


81 


The-Man-that-Champs-with-his-Teeth assented 'with a 
grunt of approval, folded up his ‘‘ recommendation ” and 
put it carefully away, as a very precious thing. While he 
was walking softly about the camp, as if looking for son 
thing to steal, another of the tribe dived into the besom of 
his hunting shirt and extracted a lump of dough. Hold 
ing it out to Arthur, who was getting ready the supper, 
he made signs toward the stove and said, “ Cook him ? ” 
Arthur assented, but Barnard cried, ‘‘Ho, no, Arthur i 
Don’ let that dirty fellow’s dough go into our oven. II « 
has stolen it somewhere, and has carried it about in his 
dirty clothes, nobody knows how long.” 

“ I’ll let him cook it on top of the stove then,” said 
Arthur ; and the Pawnee put his cake on the outside of the 
camp-stove, where Arthur covered it with a tin dish. The 
Indian, with an expression of intense satisfaction, squatted 
by the hot stove, and never took his eyes ofE of it until his 
dough was bread and delivered, blazing hot, into his hand. 

The Indians carried bows and arrows, and one had a 
battered army-musket, which he declared, proudly, was 
“ heap good — killed buffalo six mile off.” This piece of 
brag tickled Hi so much that the Indian seized that 
opportunity to beg powder, shot, or lead. These were not 
given him ; and he renewed his application for “ whisk ” 
(whisky) or “ sugee ” (sugar), both of which the Indians 
particularly hanker after. These persistent beggars got 
very little for their trouble, Arthur having vainly inter 
ceded in behalf of The-Man-that-Champs-with-his-Teeth, 
who offered to give “ heap moccasin ” for a red silk hand- 
kerchief of Barnard’s which he very much desired. 

“ Where you from ?” asked the Indian, as if attracted 
by Arthur’s good-natured and pleasant face. 

From Kichai’dson, Lee County, Illinois.’’ said Artlnur 

4 * 


82 


THE BC Y EMIORANTS. 


“ Ton know it is the land cf the prairie, one of the great 
States that belongs to your Great Father and mine. Th« 
people in that land are many ; they are like the leaves on 
tlie trees, they are so many. They are going to the land 
of the setting sun, where the gold shines in the waters oi 
the Sacramento. The pale-faces are covering the conti- 
nent. They will leave no room for the red man, the deer 
and the buffalo. Are you not sorry for this ? ” 

“ Whisk,” said the red man^ stolidly. 

A good oration, Arty ! ” laughed Mont. But Mr. 
Man-that-Champs-with-his-Teeth don’t understand it. He 
understands ‘ whisk ’ and ‘ sugee,’ and he don’t care for the 
pale-faces as long as he get these. Look out 1 there goes 
the cover of your camp kettle! ” 

Arthur turned just in time to see the Indian who was 
squatted by the stove calmly fold his arms over a suspi- 
cious bunch in his blanket. Mont stalked over, pulled the 
blanket from the Indian’s unresisting arm, and the iron 
cover rolled out upon the ground. The copper-colored 
rascal smiled cunningly, as one should say, “ I missed it 
that time, but never mind. It’s a good joke on me.” 
After that the boys mounted guard at night-watch and 
watch, as they had been told long before that it would bo 
necessary to do while passing through the Indian country. 

Next to “ wild ” Indians, the boys longed for a sight of 
the buffalo on his native plain. This came in due time. 
They had passed up the long tongue of land which liea 
between Loup Fork and the Platte, and had reached a 
small stream making in from the north and known as 
Wood River. Crossing this, they bore off to the north- 
west, with the little river on their right. 

One hot afternoon, while the i)arty were wearily drag- 
ging themselves along Barnard went ahead with the horss 


BOMB NEW AVqUAINTANGEa. 


83 


U) spy out a good caraping-place. Arthur walked on in 
advance of the team in tlie dusty road, half asleep, and 
feeling as if he should be happy if he could fall down in 
the dust and take a long nap. It was very tiresome, thii 
continual tramp, tramp, tramp, with each day’s journey 
making almost no difference in their progress. Ai’thur 
grumbled to himself, and scarcely heard the boyish talk 
of Johnny, who trudged along with him. Once in a while 
he felt himself dropping to sleep as he walked. Hia 
heavy eyes closed ; he lost sight of the yellow wagon-track, 
the dusty grass, and the earth, which seemed to reel ; the 
blinding glare of the sun was gone for an instant, and ho 
stumbled on as in a dream. Then he nearly fell over 
forward, and he knew that he had slept by the painful 
start of awaking. He looked dreamily at the rough soil 
by the side of the trail, dimly longing to lie down and 
sleep, sleep, sleep. 

Johnny said, “ Oh my ! Arty I what big black cattle ! ” 

Arty looked languidly across the river, which was here 
only a narrow, woody creek. In an instant his sleepiness 
was gone. 

“ Buffalo 1 buffalo ? ” he shouted, and, very wide awake 
indeed, ran back to the wagon. He was in a fever of ex- 
citement, and the news he brought set his comrades into 
commotion. Each rushed for bis favorite fire-arm. Tom 
extracted his long- unused revolver from the wagon, where 
it lay unloaded. 

“iS^ow, boys, we can’t all go over the creek,” said Hi. 
“ You, Tom, stay here with the team. Mont, Arty, and 
1 will go over and see if we can knock over a brace of 
them buffalo.” 

Tom handled his revolver with a very bad grace, but waa 
moUifiod when Johnny said he urould stay, and perhap# 


84 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


they might see the bufifalo cross over ai d break thro'jgh 
the woods below. The banks of the creek were tilled with 
a thick growth of box-eldors, but through some of the gaps 
tliey could see five buffalo quietly feeding in a Y-shaped 
meadow formed by the junction of two small branches of 
Wood Eiver. 

‘‘We must get above them,” said Hi, as they were recon- 
noitering, “ or they will make off by that open place. Ii 
we take ’em in the rear they can’t mizzle so easy-like.” 

Mont thought it unsafe to go to the upper part of the 
meadow, because the wind came from that direction. “And 
they are very sensitive to any unusual odor in the air,” 
added Arthur. “ They can smell a man two miles off, 
when they are to the leeward.” The boy was trembling 
with excitement at the sight of this large game, but he re- 
membered his natural history, for all that. Even as he 
spoke one of the feeding buffalo lifted his large shaggy 
head and sniffed suspiciously to the windward. 

The three young fellows separated, Arthur going down 
the creek. Hi up toward the open, and Mont crossing in 
the middle of the Y, directly opposite whej'e the animals 
were feeding. They were huge fellows, ponderously mov- 
ing about and nibbling the short, tender grass. Their 
humped shoulders were covered with dark, shaggy hair, 
and their long, beard-like dewlaps nearly swept the ground 
as they bent their heads to graze. They were not in very 
good condition, apparently, and the hide of one of them 
was clouded with a dingy, yellowish tinge. “ Just like our 
old buffal>robe,” secretly commented Arthur to hin^elf, 
as he lay breathless, near the creek, waiting for a signal 
from Hi. 

Suddenly, to his amazement, a shot burst out from the 
*,rush on the farther side of the meadow, and, as tli6 



ARTHUR AND THE BUFFALO 






I 



I 





/ 



7 



I 




% 






J 


. ^4 


t 







V 

0 


\ 





SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES, 


85 


alanned animals dashed away like cats, another report 
banged out from the same spot. The bulfalo, scattering in 
different directions, were almost immediately out of reach. 
Two pitched down into the creek near where they were 
feeding and disappeared in the woods beyond. One broke 
through the timber just below where Arthur was posted, 
scrambled across the stream, and, with incredible agility, 
crashed through into the road near the wagon, where Tom 
gallantly, but ineffectually, assaulted him with his pep- 
per-box ” revolver as he galloped away. The fourth raced 
up the V-shaped meadow, receiving a shot each from 
Mont’s musket and Hi’s rifle in his rapid flight. The fifth 
made as if he would plunge down into the creek at the 
foot of the meadow, but, baulked by something, turned 
and raced up the side of the triangle next the road, head- 
ing directly for Arthur, who was concealed behind a bush, 
“ Now or never,” said the boy, with his heart standing still 
and his eye glancing along the sights of his rifie. The buf- 
falo was coming directly toward him, his head down and 
his enormous feet pounding the earth. Arthur fired, and 
the buffalo swerved sharply to the right ; at the same in- 
stant another shot came from the opposite side of the 
meadow. The buffalo ambled on for a few paces, fell on 
his knees, dug his horns madly into the ground, rolled 
over on his side, and was still. 

As Arthur, scarcely believing his eyes, ran out into the 
open, a tall young fellow, carrying a double-barreled shot 
gun, rushed up from the other side, and drawing nig 
hunting-knife, cut the animal’s throat. There was no 
need. The great creature was dead. 

‘‘ My fust buffalo,” said the stranger, drawing himseH 
up proudly. Arthur looked on, with his heart beatings 
and said, “ 1 fired at him t/oc ” 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


86 

All this took place in a very few minutes, Tlie firing 
in all directions was almost simultaneous. Mont and Ili 
came running up, chagrined at their ill luck, but excited 
by the sight of the first slain buffalo. 

Wlio shot him ? ” eagerly cried Hi, who had not seea 
what happened below him. 

‘‘Well, I allow that I’m the fortnit individual,” said the 
stranger. “ Leastways, thar’s my mark,” and he inserted 
his finger into a smooth round hole in the centre of the 
animal’s forehead, directly between and a little above the 
eyes. 

‘‘ Tliat’s just where I aimed,” said Arthur, with some 
excitement. 

“No, little chap,” said the stranger, superciliously ; “ I 
seen you shoot, and your ball must ’a gone clean over him. 
Mine’s a slug. No or’nery rifle ball’s goin’ to kill a 
critter like this,” and he gave the dead monster a touch 
with his boot. 

“ Let’s look at that ball,” said Mont, curiously, as the 
emigrant handled one of the clumsy slugs which had been 
fitted for the big bore of his gun. Taking it in his hand 
and glancing at the wound in the head of the buffalo, he 
stooped to put it into the wound. The skull was pierced 
with a sharply defined hole. The stranger’s slug rested 
in the edge of it like a ball in a cup. 

“ That ball don’t go into that hole, stranger,” said Mont 
“ The mate of it never went in there. Give mo a ball, 
Arty.” And Mont, taking one of Arty’s ritte-balls, 
slipped it in at the wound ; it dropped inside and was 
gone. 

“ It’s a clear case, Cap,” said Hi. “You may as well 
give it up. That buffalo belongs to our camp, and Arty’s 
the boy that fetched him — you bet ye.” 


SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 


87 


*‘Well,” said the stranger, discontentedly, ‘‘ thar’s no 
need o’ jawin’ about it. I allow thar’s meat enough toj 
all hands. I’ll pitch in and help dress the critter, any 
how,” and he stilpped to work. 

There ^vas certainly no need of disputing over the deaa 
b jflalo. It wjis Arthur’s game, however, cleaily enough. 
He received the congratulations of his friends with natu- 
»*al elation, but with due modesty. He crossed tlie cieck 
again for Knives to help prepare the butfalo meat for 
immediate use. Barnard had come tearing back down 
the road at the sound of fire-arms, and now stood waitiiig 
with, “What luck? what luck? ” as Arty waded the 
creek, yet unconscious of his having been up to his waist 
in the stream a few minutes before. 

Arty told his story with some suppresssd excitement, 
but without any self-glorification. The water fairly stood 
in Barnai-d’s joyful eyes as he clapped his young brother 
on the back and said, “ Good for you, my old pard.” 
^'oii see Barnard was beginning to catch the slang of the 
plains. 

They camped right there and then. The buffalo was 
dressed and the choice parts cut off and cooled in the air, 
for the sun was now low and night came on. The stran- 
ger’s comrades, camped on the north side of Wood liiver, 
came over and helped the party of amateur butchers, and 
earned their share of fresh meat, which was all tliey (iould 
cHiry away and take care of. This was a luxury in the 
eamp. The emigrants had had almost no fresh meat 
since leaving the Missouri River. Small game was 
scarce, and only a few birds, shot at raie intervals, had 
given variety to their daily fare. 

The beys stood expectantly around the camp-stove as 
the operation of frying buffalo steaks went on under the 


88 


THE EOT EMIGRANTS. 


STiperintendeiice of Mont and Arthur. Snilfing the de 
licious odor of the supper which had been so unexpectedly 
given them, Barnard said, ‘‘ Obliged to you, Arty, for 
this fresh beef. You know I hate bacon.” 

‘‘ And the best of it is,” added little Johnny, “ there’s 
enough of it to go round.” 

‘‘Which is more than some cha]>s can say of their pie,” 
said Barnard. 

Arty raised his hot face from the frying-pan and 
laughed. 


A m:i&adveni \jr&. 


89 


CHAPTER IX. 

A MISADVENTURE. 

The next few days of the journey were toilsome and 
nncomfortahle. The nights were hot, and cur emigrants 
were greatly annoyed with mosquitoes, so that Hi gave 
notice that he should go crazy if they did not ‘‘ let up ” on 
him. Long rains had swollen tlie streams; the Platte 
overflowed its banks in some places, and the bottom lands 
opposite Fort Kearney were overflowed. The boys had 
depended on crossing the river for the sake of visiting the 
fort, which was on the south side, but they were prevented 
by the high water. They had no special errand at the 
fort, but as they had now been a month on the road, they 
thought it would be pleasant to go over and see where 
folks lived,” as Barney expressed it. He and Mont made 
the attempt, but gave it up after wading a long distance 
through the overflow, without reaching deep water. This 
was a disappointment, and they pushed on witli a slight 
feeling of loneliness. They all wanted to see what a 
frontier fort was like, though they knew that it was only 
a collection of substantial buildings — barracks and store- 
houses — surrounded by a stockade. There was something 
romantic and adventurous about a military post in the 
Indian country, which to Arthur, at least, was very attrac- 
tive. The next fort on their route was Fort Laramie, and 
to this stage on their journey they now passed on, stiP 
keeping by the north bank of the Platte. 


THE EOT EMI 0 RANTS. 


VO 

There was no occasion for loneliness, however, as tii« 
road was now all alive with teams. It was the custom foJ 
emigrant companies to combine in trains of several com- 
]>anies each. These stopped sometimes, for a day or two 
at a tijiie, in order to rest, repair the wear and tear ot 
loams and get ready for a fresh start. On such occasion 
the <;ump v»^as busy, though our young fellows enjoyed the 
rest when it came. It was tedious wwk, marching all day, 
camping at night, packing up and oeginning another 
march next day. They knew they must be three or four 
months crossing the continent, and a lay-by ” (>f two or 
three days was always welcome ; and nobody thought such 
a stoppage was a serious delay. A fter a few weeks, every- 
body got over all feverish eagerness to be the first at the 
mines. Now and then some small party of horsemen, 
lightly equipped and traveling ra})idly, pushed by the 
body of emigrants, their faces eagerly set toward the land 
of gold, and scarcely taking time to sleep. 

From such rapid travelers as these our boys ascei’tained 
who was behind, and tlM3y soon learned the names, origin, 
and character of most of the companies between the Sierra 
Nevada and the Missouri. While they were camped for 
a day’s rest — Sunday’s rest — near Dry Creek, Bush came 
up with his little cow and cart, lie had been traveling 
with a AVisconsin company, but had left them behind 
when near Fort Kearney and had pushed on by himself. 
Bush w M of news. He had })assed several parlies of 
whom t o.yshad heard; and he had been passed by 
several , some of whom were ahead, and others of 
whom were again behind. It was in this way that the 
intelligence on the trail went back and forth. Emigrants 
thus learned all about the fords, the grass, wood and water, 
and the condition of the road before them. SojnehoW; 


A MISADVENTURE, 


91 


the p^oRsip of the great moving population of the plains 
tiowed to and fro, just as it does in a small village. Men 
sat around their camp-lires at night, or lounged in the sun, 
of a leisure day, and retailed to each other all the inf or 
jnatiori they picked up as they traveled. Every man was 
a newspaper to the next man ho met. Thci’e was no news 
from far countries, none from towns, and only a very little 
from the land to which they were bound. The long 
column of emigration that stretched across the continent 
liad its own world of news. It was all compressed in the 
space that lay between the Missouri and the Sierra 
Kevada. Thonsands of camp-lires sparkled at night 
along the winding trail that ran on and on across the 
heart of the continent. Thousands of wagons moved 
sl(»wly to the westward, ai^ almost unbroken procession 
through an unknown land; by each fire was a community 
of wandei'ors; each wagon was a moving mansion car- 
rying its own family with its worldly possessions, and 
laden with the beginnings of a new State beyond the 
mountains. 

Just now, camped on a level greensward, with a bright 
June sun lighting up the landscape, our boy emigrants 
enjoyed their day of rest very much. They wore grouped 
under the shelter of the tent, which was caught up at the 
sides to let in the air, for the weather was now growing 
hot. 

“ ’Pears to me,” said Bush, “ this tent is mighty fine, 
but it lets the sun in. It’s too all -fired white inside.” 

“Bush likes to camp under his go-eart,” laughed Hi. 
‘^But 1 allow a teat is uncommonly handy when it comei 
on to rain.” 

“ As for the sun shining in through the cloth,” said 
Mont, “1 think 1 see a way to help that.” he caugld 


93 


THE BOY E^f TO HANTS. 


op one or two of the blankets which were opened out on tn« 
grass to air, and flung them over the ridge-pole. 

‘‘ You are a powerful knowin’ creeter, Mont,” said Bush^ 
admiringly. “A feller’d suppose you had been on the 
plains all your life. And you a counter-jumper at that.” 

Barney remonstrated that Mont was not a counter- 
jumper. ‘‘Besides,” he added, “it don’t follow that a 
young fellow don’t know anything beyond his counter 
l>ecause he has spent some of his days behind one.” 

“ Jess so, jess so,” said Bush. “Mont is on hand liere 
to prove just that. There’s fellers as takes to rough work 
and plains tricks and doin’s as a cat does to cream. Then 
again there’s fellers as ain’t no more use around a team 
than a cow would be in a parlor.” 

Mont listened with some amusement to this conversa- 
tion, as he lay on the ground looking up at the shaded 
roof of the tent. He explained, “ You see. Bush, I like 
teaming, roughing it, and living out in the open air. 
Would you like to tend store, lay bricks, or work in a fac 
tory ? ” 

“ Nary time,” rejoined Bush. 

“ I don’t believe you would take to any such business, 
nor do well in it, if you were put to it- Do you ? ” 

“ No. If I was to be sot to work, at regular work, you 
know, why, I should go right straight down to where 
flour’s fifteen dollars a barl, and no money to buy with 
at that. Oh, no, I’m gay and chipper at trappin’, lumberin’, 
gcttin’ out rock, teamin’, or any of them light chores ; but 
come to put me to work, regular work, I’m just miser 
able.” 

“ Then there’s Arty,” put in Barney. “ He’s all for 
aninials. Just see that steer follow him round after 
sugar.” 


A MISABYENTUIiE. 


93 


Tige had been loitering around the camp instead Ox 
keeping with the cattle, which grazed near by, and Arty, 
having allowed him to smell of a little sugar which he 
carried in his hand, was enticing him about the camping 
ground. 

“ Dreffle waste of sugar,” commented Tom. 

“Never you mind about the sugar,” said Hiram, re- 
piovingly. “ That’s the knowingest critter on the plains; 
and if Arty has a mind to give him a spoonful, now and 
then, it’s all right. We’ve got enough to carry us through.” 

Hearing the debate, Arty approached the tent, holding 
out his hand toward the docile Tige, who still followed 
him, snufting the coveted sugar. 

“ Take care ! take care I don’t come in here ! ” yelled 
Ei. But Arty kept on, laughing at Tige, who seemed 
also to be much amused. Arty stepped over the body of 
Barney, who lounged by the door, the steer immediately 
following him. 

“ He’ll wallop your tent over,” shouted Bush, but Tige, 
still stepping after his master as lightly as a full-grown 
steer could step, kept on with his nose close to the boy’s 
open hand, and drawing long breaths as he smelled the 
sugar. Arty circled about the interior of the little tent, 
and over the prostrate forms of his comrades, who hugged 
the ground in terror lest the unwieldy beast should trample 
on them. They were too much surprised to move, and 
Tige marched after Arty, turning around inside the canvas 
house as gingerly as if he had always lived in one. 

“ Why, he is as graceful as a kitten, and he steps o\ei 
you as if he were treading among egg-shells,” said Arty 
shaking with fun. “ See how carefully he misses Hi’s big 
feet. Why, Tige is almost as spry as you are. Hi.” 

“if Tige knocks down that pole I’ll trounce you witi 


94 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


it,” said Hi, whc did not relish the comir^on camp joka 
about his lar^e feet. But the wise little steer passed 
safely out by the front of the tent, having gone in at one 
side of the pole and out at the other, witlioiit doing any 
damage. lie was rewarded with the sugar which he had 
jmrsued into the presence of so much danger, and he lay 
down at a distance, contemplating the group which he had 
just visited. 

“ 1 think you said something about a cow in a parlor, 
Bush,” said Arty. “ What do you think of a steer in a 
tent ? ” 

“ Well, youngster, between you and me and the post, I 
think the best place for me, as I said afore, is out of doors. 
It’s close, this living in a tent ; and when it comes to 
makin’ cattle to hum in one of ’em, 1 aint there.” 

Tige’s friendship for his young master was put to the 
test the very next day. It was a bright Monday morning 
'vhen they reached Di*y Creek. But the creek was by no 
means dry. Its steep banks were slippery with moisture, 
and four or five feet of water flowed through its bed. A 
large number of teams had been passing over, and when 
our young emigrants came up, there were several com- 
]>anies laboriously making their way across, or waiting an 
opportunity to strike into the trail ; except at one place, 
a crossing was almost impossible. Tlie wagons wei*e 
“ blocked up,” as the water was deep enough in places to 
flow into the wagon boxes. ‘‘Blocking up” was done by 
driving wide blocks of wood under the box or body of the 
wagon, said box being loosely fitted into the bed oi- frame- 
work. Thus raised on these, the body of the wagon ii 
kept in place by the uprights at the sides, and is set up 
high enough to be drawn over an ordinary stream withoiil 
wetting its contents. 


A IflSADVEJV'TdlCI^. 


95 


The descent into tlie creek was no steeper than tlie 
way out outlie other side.* It was hard enough to get 
down to the stream without damage. It would be still 
more difficult to get out. Those who were then crossing 
made a prodigious racket shouting to their animals, at 
each other, and generally relieving their excited feelings 
with noise as they worked through the difficulty. 

“ We shall have to double up, and there’s nobody to 
double up with us,” said Barnard, ruefully. 

The boys had resorted to the expedient of doubling 
up,” or uniting their team with that of some passing ac- 
quaintance, before this. The spirit of good-fellowship 
])re vailed, and two or more ])arties would combine and 
|)ull each other’s wagons through by putting on ea<ih the 
horses or cattle of the wliole, until the hardest jdace was 
safely jiassed. Here, however, all the travelers but tliem- 
selves were busy with their own affairs. There was no- 
body ready to “ double up” with others. 

“Howdy? youngsters,” said a languid, discouraged- 
looking man, coming around from behind a red-covered 
wagon. “ Powerful bad crossing this yere.” 

“Yes,” said Arthur, who immediately recognized him 
as the man who could not make his fire burn when they 
were camped near Pape’s. Just then the sallow woman 
put her head out of the wagon, and said, “ Glad to see you 
Me baby’s wuss.” 

“ She takes yer for a doctor, Arty,” whispered Hi, who 
remembered that Arthur had tended the sick baby while 
the mother was cooking supper. 

“We ’uns is havin’ a rough time, ye bet yer life, Imt 
I allow we’ll pull through. Want to double np, you 
ans?” 

“ Yes,” replied Mont. “ This is a pretty bad crossing 


96 


TUB BOY EMIO RANTS 


and, as you have a strong team, we should be glad to jou 
forces and go across together.” 

‘‘Jine? Oh, yes, we’ll hitch up with ye. Things if 
cutting up rough, and my old woman she allows we ain’t 
goin' through. ” 

** Not going through 

Oh, you keep shut, will ye, ole man?” said tlie woman 
from the wagon. If you had a sick baby to nuss, you 
wouldn’t be so peart.” 

“ I aint so peart,” said the husband, grimly. “ But I 
allow we’ll double up, seein’ it’s you. I war agoin’ to 
wait for Si Beetles, but we’ll just snake your wagon over; 
then we’ll come back for mine.” 

The blocks were got out and put under the wagon-bed, 
and the stranger’s cattle were hitched on ahead of those 
of our boys. The wheels were chained together, front 
and rear, so that they could not turn and hurry the wagon 
down the steep bank. 

“Ye’ll have to wade for it, boys; you’d better strip,” 
advised Messer, for that was the stranger’s name. 

“ Oh, it’s only a short distance,” said Mont, measuring 
.he width of the creek with his eye, and observing the 
depth to which the men then in the water were wading. 
^ Roll up your trousers, boys, and we ’ll try it that way.” 

The party, except Hi, who sat in the forepart of the 
wagon and drove, rolled up their trousers ; and the cliained 
wagon, drawn by four pair of cattle, pitched down the 
muddy bank, attended on either side by the young emi 
grants. Bush, and Messer. Slipping and sliding, the^ 
reached the bed of the stream in safety, unlocked the 
wheels and plunged boldly in, though the cattle were be- 
wildered by the cries of the own ers and the confusion of 
the crowd croseii\g the creek. 


A MfSADV^JVTimB. 


97 


By dint of much urging and some punching from be 
hind, the wagon was ‘‘ snaked ” up the opposite hank, and 
Diir boys drew breath a few minutes before taking hold ol 
tlie rest of their job. 

Laws-a-massy me ! ” cried the poor woman, as tlio 
team slid down the bank. “ This is wuss than get-out. 1 'd 
sooTier wade the branch myself.’’ But, before she could 
utter any more complaints, the wagon was at the bottom 
of the slope and the chains taken from the wheels. The 
cattle went into the stream with some reluctance, and Hi, 
who was driving, yelled Haw, there, haw 1 ” with great 
anxiety. But the beasts would not “ haw.” Little Tige 
held in now with sullen courage ; the rest of the team 
persisted in pushing up stream. Arty and Barnard were 
on the “ off ” or upper side of the team, but they could 
not keep the oxen from running wildly away from the 
opposite bank. The animals were panic-stricken and 
angry ; turning short around they were likely to overturn 
the wagon ; Arty rushed out to the leading yoke and tried 
to head it off. Tige was in the second yoke, resolutely 
pulling back his mate, Molly. It was in vain. Bally, the 
3x just behind Tige, made a vicious lunge at Arty, who, 
11 dodging to escape the horns of the creature, slipped 
and fell headlong into the water, there about up to hie 
waist. Immediately, he was struggling among the cattle, 
where he could not swim, and was in danger of being 
trampled by the excited beasts. Hi, shouted with alarm, 
and, all clothed as he was, leaped from the wagon. 
TJiere was no need. Before any of the party could 
reach him, Arty had scrambled out and had laid hold of 
Tige’s head, that sagacious brute having stood perfectly 
still and stooping as his young master floundered undei 
his belly. 


dS 


THE DOT EMI0RANT8. 


Dripping with muddy water, and breathless, Art? 
struggled to his feet just as Hi, similarly drenched, waded 
up to him. This all took place in an instant, and tlie 
cattle, left for a moment to themselves, sharply turned 
toward the bank down which they had come, still heading 
’tp the stream. The wagon toppled on two wheels, quiv- 
ered, and went over with a tremendous splash. 

Everybody rushed to the wreck and dragged out the 
woman and her sick baby. Doth were wet through and 
through. The cattle stood still now. The water gurgled 
merrily through the overturned wagon, on which the owner 
looked silently for a moment, and then said: 

“Just my ornery luck! ” 

man!” said Mont, impatiently. “Why don’t 
you oear a hand and right up your wagon before your 
stuff is all spoiled ? ” 

“ Thar’s whar yer right, strannger,” replied the poor 
fellow. “ But this is the wust streak yit. It sorter stalls 
me.” 

Help came from the various companies on both sides of 
the creek, and Messer’s wagon was soon set up on its 
wheels again, though nearly all of its load was well soaked. 
The woman and her baby were taken out on to dry land 
fcnd comforted by some women who were with the wagons 
already on the farther side of the creek. When the party 
finally struggled up and out of this unfortunate place, 
tliey found that Messer’s wife had been taken in and 
cared for at a wagon which, covered with striped tick- 
ing, stood apart from the others, with the cattle unyoked 
near by. 

“ Why, tliere’s Nance ! ” said Johnny ; and, as he spoke 
that young woman descended from the wagon and ap 
proached. 







A MISADVENTUBE. 


99 


Ye’re wet, young feller,” she remarked to Arty. 

‘‘ Yes,” he responded, wringing out his trousersdegs aa 
well as he could. “We were with the team that upset, and 
I was upset first.” 

“Jest like ye. Always in 
somebody’s mess. I’d lend ye 
a gound, but haven’t got but 
one.” 

“ Thank you kindly. I don’t 
think your gowns would fit 
me. But that yeast of youi-s 
did first-rate.” Arthur thought 
lightly of his own troubles. 

“ I knowed it would. Have 
you kept your risin’ right 
along?” 

“ Oh yes, we have saved lea- 
ven from day to day, and so 
we have ‘riz bread,’ as you 
call it, every time we bake.” 

“ Glad of it. We’ll have to 
divide with these Missouri 
folks. I reckon they’ve lost 
all their little fixin’s ; but 
then they use salt risin’, 

Them ornery critters 
Pike always do.” 

The Missourians were in bad pliglit. Whatever was 
liable to damage by water was spoiled, and our party of 
emigrants felt obliged to stop and liclp the poor fellow 
unload his wagon, spread out his stuff to dry, and get hinn 
self together again for a fresh start. The sun shone 
brightly and the weather was favorable to the unhappy 


from 



NA17CE APPEARS. 


Lofc. 


lf)0 


THE DOT EMIO RANTS, 


emigrant, who* sat around among his wet goods, bewail 
iiig his hard luck, while his chance acquaintances repaired 
damages and saved what they could of his effects. 

His wife, loosely clad in a dress lelonging to Nance’a 
nu»ther, — a large and jolly woman, — fished out from ti e 
cruslied wagon-bows, where it had been suspended in a 
cotton bag, the wreck of an extraordinary bonnet. It was 
made of pink and yellow stuff, and had been a gorgeous 
affair. She regarded it sadly, and said : It was the gay- 
est bunnit I ever had.” 

Nance contemplated the parti-colored relic with some 
admiration, but said : 

‘‘Just you hang that theie up in the sun alongside of 
that feller, and they’ll both on ’em come out all right 
Fact is,” she said, condescending to approve Arty, “ he’g 
all right, anyhow; and if that big chap hadn’t jumped 
out of the wagon and left the cattle to take care of tliem 
selves, the wagon wouldn’t have gone over. So now ! ” 

“ But Hi thought Arty was getting killed,” remonstrated 
Johnny. “ So he jumped out into the water, head over 
heels, when he saw Arty fall.” 

“ Don’t care for all that,” retorted Nance, with severity. 
*■ Fe’re altogether too chipper. If yer Hi hadn’t upset 
that wagon, I might have seen this yer bonnet before it 
was mashed.” 

“ Never mind,” said Arty. “ Perhaps Mont will show 
you how to straighten out that bennet, when he has fin- 
/shed mending Messer’s wagon-bows. Mont knows almogi 
everything.” 

“ Who is that yer Mont, as you call him, anyhow ? 
asked Nance. 

“ He’s from Boston, is real smart, and just about knowi 
everything, as I told you ” 


A AffSAD VENTURE, 10 ] 

**01iol and that’s why you are called ‘The Boston 
R)y8,’ is it ? ” 

“ But they call us ‘ The Lee County Boys. We cauie 
from Lee County, Illinois.” 

“ Lee County, Illin^y 1 ” repeated the girl, with a know- 
ing air. “ Folks on the prairie calls you ‘ The Bostor 
Boys.’ So now I ” 


I OS 


THE BOY EMiaiiANT& 


CRAPTER X. 

AMONG THE BUFFALOES. 

While the wagon was yet heavily loaded, the boyi 
spared the oxen, and so seldom rode. At first, the inern- 
her of the party who drove the team was permitted to sit 
in the wagon, part of the time. But the roads were now 
very hard for the cattle, and so all hands walked. Old 
Jim’s back was sore ; he could not be saddled, and he was 
left to follow the team, which he did with great docility. 
The boys hardened the muscles of their legs, but they 
complained bitterly of sore feet. Much walking and 
pooi-ly made boots had lamed them. The moccasins 
which they wore at times were more uncomfortable than 
the cow-hide boots they had brought from home. 

“ Confounded Indians ! ” complained Tom, “ they don’t 
put no l>eels to their moccasins ; they tire a fellow’s feet 
<just awful.” 

“ Sprinkle some whisky in your boots ; that’s all the 
use the stuff can be to us ; and whisky is good to toughen 
jour feet.” This was Mont’s advice. 

“ But why don’t the Indians put heels on their moc- 
casins? That’s what I’d like to know.” 

‘‘AVh>, Tom, it isn’t natural. Those Sioux that we saw 
down at Buffalo Creek can outrun and out jump any 
white man you ever saw. They couldn’t do it if they 
had been l)rought up with heels on their moccasins.” 

l^ut for all that, them n.occasins are powerful weal 


amono the buffaloes. 


103 


in tiie sole,” grumbled TIi. “ ’Pears to me, sometimes, as 
if my feet was all 3f a blister, after trarelirig all day in 
the dod-rotted things. Hang Indian shoemakers, any 
how ! ” — and Hiram contemplated his chafed feet witli 
great discontent. 

“ Then there’s old Bally,” chimed in Arty. “ He’s 
gone and got lame. He don’t wear moccasins, though.” 

‘‘ But,” said Mont, “ we may be obliged to put moo 
casins on him— or, at least, on his sore foot.” 

“What for?” 

“Well, we’ve fixed his foot now two or three times, 
and he gets no better of his lameness. We might put a 
leather shoe, like a moccasin, filled with tar, on his foot. 
That’s good for the foot-rot, or whatever it is.” 

“Gosh I” said Hi. “How much that feller do 
know ! ” 

“ Well,” laughed Mont, “ I picked that up the other 
day. Those Adair County men said that if Iklly didn’t 
get better, tar would be healing ; and they said to bind it 
on with a shoe made out of an old boot-leg.” 

“ Lucky I |)icked up those boot-legs you thought were 
of no use, Barney Crogan,” said Arthur. “They’ll be 
just the things for Bally’s moccasins.” 

The boys had put up with many discomforts. Some- 
times they had no water for drinking or cooking, except 
what they found in sloughs and swampy places by the 
track. Often even this poor supply was so mixed with 
dead grass and weeds that it was necessary to strain it 
before using it. Then, again, in the long stretch which 
they were now traveling between Fort Kearney and For: 
Laramie, fuel was scarce. Not a tree nor shrub was in 
sight; buffalo chips were seldom to be found, and the 
only stuff from which a fire could be made was the dry 


104 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


grass and grease-weed found in sterile spots among the 
bluflFs above the road. Tliej were having hard times. 
Along the valley of the Platte heavy rain-storms are 
frequent in the summer time ; and, rnoj-e than once, all 
hands were obliged to get up in the night and stand bj 
the tent, in a pelting rain, to keep it from blowing away. 
One night, indeed, after bracing the tent all arcund out- 
side with extra lines, they were forced to stand on bun- 
dles and boxes inside and hold up the ridge-pole, which 
bent in the force of the gale and threatened to snap in 
twain. And then the mosquitoes ! 

But here was a serious trouble. Bally was a surly 
animal., but he was a powerful fellow and the best traveler 
in the team. lie had been lame these four days, and was 
getting worse instead of better. The boys had passed 
nuiny cattle, turned out on account of their lameness by 
those who had gone before. They did not like to think 
ot* turning out old Bally to die by the roadside. Mat 
ters were not so serious as that. But Mont had said 
almost under his breath; “ If we should have to leave 
Bally—’’ 

Serious remedies were now to be tried. The tar- 
bucket was taken out from under the wagon, and a shoe 
made from one of provident Arty’s boot-legs. With the 
assistance of Bush, Messer, and one or two neighbors at 
tlie camp, poor Bally was cast by suddenly pulling on 
ropes attached to one hind-foot and one fore-foot. The 
big beast fell over on his side with a thump that niad<^ 
Arty’s heart jump. Then each person held that part ol 
tlie animal to which he had previously been fissigiieci 
Nance, whose father was now with them for a time, looked 
on with profound interest. 

The struggling animal subsided, after a while, into 


AMONG THE BUFFALOES. lOg 

angry quiet his eyes rolling wildly at Arty and Jclinny, 
who sat on his head to keep him down. 

“ Set onto him heavy, hoys,” said Bush. “ ’S long's ne 
can’t lift you, he can’t lift his head ; and ’s long’s he can’t 
Lft his head, he’s got to lay still.” 

But he did not lie still. When the shoe, full of soft 
tar, was fairly on, but not tied. Bally wiggled his tail very 
animatedly, cuffed Bush on the side of his head with the 
lame foot, which he suddenly jerked out of the hands of 
tlie operators, and, with one mighty effort, threw up his 
head, angrily brandishing his horns the while. Arthur 
and Johnny flew into the air, one to the right and one to 
the left, as Bally’s head swung in either direction. 
Struggling to his feet, the worried beast shuffled off a few 
paces, his shoe half-sticking to his foot in slip-shod 
fashion ; then lie stopped and regarded the whole party 
with profound disfavor. 

“ Wal, I allow you are a nice creeter, you are 1” said 
Hi, with disgust. “ Don’t know yer best friends, you 
don’t, when they’re tryin’ to cure ye up.” 

“ Why, he’s as spry as a cat and as strong as an ox,” 
cried Bush. ‘‘ But them boys is spryer. See ’em go. 
Tore yer shirt, didn’t it, Arty ? ” 

‘‘ My belt saved me,” said the boy, bravely, exhibiting 
a huge rent in his flannel shirt, and a long rod streak on 
the white skin of his chest, where Bally’s sharp horn bad 
plunged under his belt and sharply along his “ hide,” as 
Bush called it. Johnny had turned a somersault, lighting 
on his shoulders, but without serious damage. 

“ Well, we’ve got it all to do over again,” was Mont’s 
philosophic comment ; and, under his leadership. Bally 
was once more thrown and held down until the shoe wm 
firmly fixed on his foot. lie walked off w.th a limp, 
5 * 


106 


THE BOV EMIGRANTS. 


evidci.tly very much puzzled with his first expeiimeni ii 
wearing leather slioes. 



MONT. 


^ Looks like a hear in moccasins,” said Hi, grimly 
“ Tjcastways, he looks as 1 allow a bear would look in 
moccasins, or w*’!!! one of ’em onto him. Next time yoi 


AMONG THE BVPFAL0E8, 107 

are sot on a steer’s head, Arty, you git where he can’t 
h’ist you liigher’n a kite when he tries to git up.” 

‘‘I sat where I was told. Hi; but 1 didn't weigh 
enough. That’s what was the matter.” 

Their lame ox did not keep his shoe on more than 
day or two at a time, and the boys soon had the disagree- 
able task of replacing it quite often. It was a trouble- 
some affair ; but they were now obliged to face the more 
troublesome question of supplying his place, in case it 
became necessary to leave him behind. Bally’s mate was 
like liim — a large and powei-ful ox ; Tige and Molly, the 
leaders, w^ere lighter. With these three and their horse, 
Old Jim, they might go on ; but the prospect was gloomy. 

“ Pity we can’t hitch up some of these buffaloes that 
are running around loose,” said Barnard, with a personal 
sense of the wastefulness of so many cattle going wild, 
while they needed only one draught animal. ‘‘ Could we 
catch one of these critters and put him into the yoke, I 
wonder ? ” 

‘‘ You catch one, and I will agree to yoke him,” laughed 
Mont. 

It w^as not surprising that Barney grumbled at the waste 
of animal power, and that a wild notioTi that some of it 
ought to be made useful crossed his mind. The country 
w’as now covered with vast herds of buffaloes, moving to 
the north. One day, Mont and Arty ascended a steep 
bluff, to the right of the road, while the wagon train 
kept slowly on below them. As far as the eye could 
reach northward, the undulating country was literally 
black with the slow-moving herds. Here and there, on 
some conspicuous eminence, a solitary, shaggy old fellow 
stood relieved against the sky — a sentinel over th^e flowing 
streams of dark brown animals below. They moved in 


108 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


battalions, in single files, by platoons, and in disorderlj 
masses, stretching out in vast dark patches and covciing 
the green earth. Before them was gi*ass and herbage ; 
beliind them was a trampled, earthy paste. 

Occasionally, these migratory herds, coming to a stream, 
rushed in thirstily, each rank crowding hard upon another 
WTion the foremost struck the water, galloping along with 
tliundering tread, the fury of their chaige sent the spray 
high in the air, like a fountain. In an instant, the crystal 
current was yellow and turbid, with the disturbed soil ; 
then a dense mass of black heads, with snorting muzzles, 
crowded the surface from bank to bank. 

“ See ! see ! ” cried Arthur. ‘‘ How those big fellows run 
on ahead, lie down and roll, and then jump up and dash 
on again. Why, they’re spryer than old Bally was tlie 
other day, when he pitched me sky high.” 

“Yes, and if you watch, you will see that all the buf 
faloes on the side of that bluff drop in the same place, 
roll and skip on again, almost like a lot of cats.” 

“ Wliy do tliey do that, Mont ? ” 

“ AVell, you know that most hairy animals like to roll ; I 
BupY)ose it answers for a scratching-post. If you ever come 
to a tree in this part of the country, you will find it all 
worn smooth and tufted with loose hair, where the buffaloes 
have rubbed themselves against it.” 

“ But, somehow, these chaps all seem to drop in the 
same place and then canter on again. I should think oach 
buffalo would want a clean spot.” 

“ Oh no ! that place is worn to the soil now, and is a better 
one to rub the hide of the creature in than a grassy place 
would be. For years after this, if we were to come along 
here, we should find a big patch right there where the buf 
faloes are rolling as thej trot along. The grass won’t 


AMONG THE BUFFALOES. 


109 


grow there again for a great while. That is what the 
plains men call a buffalo-wallow — though a ‘ vsraller/ I 
believe, is the correct plains expression.” 

‘‘ I like you, Mont,” said Arty, looking frankly into 
Moi’se’s eyes, because you know everything.” 

‘‘ Oh no, Arty, not everything. You are a partial friend. 
I’m only a greenhorn. But look at that 1 My ? But isn’t 
that a sight ? ” 

As he spoke, a vast crowd of animals, moving from the 
eastward, came surging up over a swale in the undulating 
surface. There seemed to be hundreds of thousands. 
The ground disappeared from sight, and in its place, as if 
it had swallowed it, was a flood of dark animal life. There 
was no longer any individuality; it was a sea. It didn’t 
gallop ; it moved onward in one slow-flowing stream. 
There was no noise ; but a confused murmur, like the 
rote of the distant sea before a storm, floated on the air. 
There was no confusion ; in one mighty phalanx the count- 
less creatures drifted on, up the hills and down tlie 
horizon. 

“ Jingo ! ” exclaimed Arty. “ I don’t wonder Barney 
grumbles because there is so much cattle-power running 
to waste. Don’t I wish we could hitch up four or five 
yoke of those old chaps! We’d go to California jus’ 
' fluking,’ as Bush would say.” 

“ If I had my way about it, my boy, I’d have some ol 
that good, nice buffalo-beef that is running about loose 
here cut up and sent to poor folks in Boston.” 

“ Well, there are poor folks in other cities besides 
Boston, Monty, you know.” 

To be sure ; only I think of them first, because I know 
them. ^ And wherever they are, some of those same poor 
folks don’t get fresh meat very often. And here’s millions 


no 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


and millions of pounds going to was:.e. It seems to tm 
that there’s a screw loose somewhere that this should 
be so.” 

Arthur regarded this wonderful cattle show with great 
soberness and with new interest. 

“ Why can’t some rich man have these buffaloes killed, 
and the fresh meat sent to the poor people who starve in 
cities?” 

“ Perhaps a mere sensible plan would be to bring the 
poor out here.” 

“ Sure enough,” responded the lad, “I never thought of 
that. But if next yeai^’s emigrants kill the buffaloes like 
they do now, there will be none left when the settlers come. 
Why, I counted twenty-seven dead ones on the cut-off, 
yesterday, when Johnny and I took that trail back of Ash 
Hollow.” 

“ And even the animals that are cut into are not used 
much for food,” added Mont. “We have all the buffalo 
meat we want ; and while you were off, yesterday, I passed 
a place where some party had cami>ed, and 1 saw where 
they had kindled a lire from an old, used-up wagon, and 
had heaped up two or three carcases of buffaloes to burn. 
G reat waste of fuel and meat too, I call that. But I 
greased my boots by the marrow fiying out of the bones.’' 

Mont and Arty descended the bluff, and reaching the 
rolling plain behind it, moved to the north and west, keejv 
ing the general course of the road, but leaving the blulf 
between it and them. 

“ Ws have nothing but our pistols to shoot w’th,’* 
Mont, “and I wouldn’t shoot one if I could* o »»o 
may as well see Ik w near we can get to them.” 

They walked rapidly toward the moving mass of buffa- 
loes. Here and tJiere were grazing herds, but most of 


AMONG THE BUFFALOES. 


Ill 


them seemed to be slowly traveling without stopping to 
eat. Mont advised that they should creep up a bushy 
ravine which led into a gap in the hills, and was blackened 
on its edges with buffaloes. Cautiously moving up this 
depression, they emerged at the farther end and found 
themselves in a throng of animals, just out of gun-shot 
range. Some were standing still, others were moving 
away, but all regarded the strangers with mild curiosity. 

“ Why, 1 thought I should be afraid,” confessed Arthur. 

“ No,” whispered Mojit. “ As long as they arc not en- 
raged by a long chase, or driven into a corner, they are aa 
harmless as so many cows.” 

Passing out between the hills, the young fellows found 
themselves on a nearly lev^el j)lain. Here, too, was a dense 
throng of buffaloes, stretching off to the undulating hori- 
zon. As the two explorers walked on, a wide lane seemed 
to open in the mighty herds before them. Insensibly, 
and without any hurry, the creatures drifted away to the 
right and left, browsing or staring, but continually moving. 
Iiooking back, they saw that tlie buffaloes had closed up their 
ranks on the ti*ail which they had just })ursued ; while be- 
fore, and on either hand, w^as a wall of animals. 

“We are surrounded 1 ” almost whispered Arthur, with 
some alarm. 

“Never mind, my boy. We can walk out, just as the 
children of Israel did from the Red Sea. Only we have 
waves of buffaloes, instead of water, to close behind and 
open before and be a wall on each side. See ! ” 

And, as they kept on, the mass before them melted 
sway in some nijsterious way, always at the same distance 
from them. 

“ See 1 We move in a vacant space that travels with lu 
wherever we go, Arty.” 


112 


THE BO V EMIGRANTS, 


said the lad. “It seems just as if we were i 
candle in the dark. The open ground arcund us is the 
light we shed ; the buffaloes are the darkness outside.” 

“ A good figure of speech, that, my laddie. I must 
remember it. But we are getting out of tl\e wilderness.” 

They had now come to a sharp rise of ground, broken 
oy a rocky ledge, which turned the herds more to the 
northward. Ascending this, they were out of the buffaloea 
foi the time, but beyond them were thousands moi*e. 
Turning southward, they struck across the country for the 
road, quite well satisfied with their explorations. 

Between two long divides, or ridges, they came upon a 
single wagon, canvas-covered, in which were two small 
children. Two little boys w'ere playing near, and four 
oxen were grazing by a spring. 

Ill reply to Mont’s sui*prised question as to how they 
came off the road, and why they were here alone, they 
said that their father and uncle had come up after the 
buffaloes, and were out with their guns. Their mother 
was over on the bluff, a little rocky mass which rose like 
an island in the middle of the valley. She had gone to 
hunt for “ sar vice-berries.” They were left to mind the 
cattle and the children. 

“Pretty careless business, I sliould say,” murmured 
Mont. “Well, youngsters,” he added, “keep by the 
wagon ; and if your cattle stray off, they may get carried 
away by the buffaloes. Mind that ! ” 

Thay went on down the valley, looking behind them at 
the lielplcss little family alone in the wilderness. 

“ A man ought to be whipped for leaving his young 
ones liere in such a lonely place,” said Mont. 

Suddenly, over the southern wall of the valley, like a 
thundei -cloud, rose a vast and fleeing herd of buffaloes 


AMONG THE BUFFALOS!^. HA 

They were not only running, they were rushing like a 
mighty hood. 

“ A stampede ! a stampede ! ” cried Mont ^ ai\d hying 
back to the unconscious group of children, followed by 
Arthur, he said : ‘‘Eun for your lives, youngsters ! Make 
for the bluff!” 

Seizing one of the little ones, and bidding Arthui take 
the other, he started the boys ahead for the island -bluff, 
which was some way down the valley. There was not a 
moment to lose. Behind them, like a rising tide, howed 
the buffaloes in surges. A confused murmur hlled the 
air ; the ground resounded with the hurried beat of count- 
less hoofs, and the earth seemed to be disappearing in the 
advancing torrent. Close behind the flying fugitives, the 
angry, panic-stricken herd tumbled and tossed. Its labored 
breathing sighed like a breeze, and the warmth of its pul- 
sations seemed to stifle the air. 

“ To the left! to the left!” screamed Arthur, seeing 
the bewildered boys, who fled like deer, making directly 
for the steepest part of the bluff. Thus warned, the lads 
bounded up the little island, grasping the underbrush as 
they clim])ed. Hard beliind them came Arty, pale, his 
features drawn and rigid, and bearing in his arms a little 
girl. Mont brought u]> the rear with a stout boy on his 
shoulder, and breathless with excitement and the laboi-ious 
run. 

Up the steep side they scrambled, falling and recovering 
fl.emselves, but up at last. Secure on the rock, they saw 
a heaving tide of wild creatures pour tumultuously over 
the edge of the ridge and till the valley. It leaped from 
ledge to ledge, tumbled and broke, rallied again ai d 
swept on, black and silent save for the rumbling thundei 
of counthiss hoofs and the panting breath of the innumer 


114 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


able multitude. On it rolled over every obstacle. Tli€ 
wagon disappeared in a twinkling, its white cover going 
down in the black tide like a sinking ship at sea. Past 
the island-like bluff, whei’e a little group stood spell 
bound, the herd swept, the rushing tide separating at the 
rc»t;ky point, against which it beat and parted to the right 
and left. Looking down, they saw the stream flow by, on 
and up the valley. It was gone, and the green turf was 
brown where it had been. The spring was choked, and 
the wagon was trampled flat. 

Fascinated by the sight, Mont and Arthur never took 
their eyes from it until it was over. Then retui ning to 
their young charges, they saw a tall, gaunt woman, with a 
horror stricken face, gathering the whole group in her 
arms. It was the mother. 

“ 1 don’t know who you be, young men, but I thank you 
from the bottom of my heart,” she said. “ Yes, 1 thank 
you from the bottom of my heart — and. Oh ! I thank God, 
too !” And she burst into tears. 

Arthur, at loss for anything else to say, remarked: 
“ Your wagon is all smashed.” 

“ I don’t care — don’t care,” said the woman, hysterically 
rocking herself to and fro where she sat with her cliildren 
clasped to her bosom. “ So’s the young ones are safe, the 
rest may go to wrack.” 

As spoke, a couple of horsemen, carrying rifles, 
caiJi' laau galloping down the valley, far in the wake of 
the herd. They paused thunderstruck, at the frag* 

ments of their wagon trampled in the torn soil. Then, 
seeing the group on the rock, they hastened on, dis^ 
mounted, and climbed the little eminence. 

“ Great powers above, Jemimy 1 we stampeded the 
buffaloes ! ” said the elder of the pair of hunters. 


AMONG THE BUFFALOES, 115 

Art/ expected to hear her say that she was thankful so 
long as they were all alive. 

“ Yes, and a nice mess you’ve made of it.” This wa« 
all her con: men t. 

“Whars the cattle, Zeph?” asked the father of this 
flock. 

“ Gone off with the buffaloes, I reckon, dad,” was the 
response of his son Zephaniah. 

The man looked up and down the valley with a be- 
wildered air. His wagon had been mashed and crushed 
into the ground. His cattle were swept out irto space by 
the resistless Hood, and were nowhere ir. sight. He found 
words at last : 

“ Well, this is perfeckly rediclns ” 


iia 


THE 30 r EMIORANTE. 


CHAPTER XI 

W WHICH THE BOSTON BOYS LOSE AN 01 0 FRIEND AND ?0ft) 
A NEW FRIEND. 

‘‘ We are frorix Cedar Rapids, Iowa,” was the answer oi 
the buffalo-ruined emigrant, when Mont asked him al)Out 
his compan3^ “ The way we came to be here was this : 
M\^ brother Jake here and I wanted to hunt buffaloes, so 
we left the train back at Crab Creek, and just S(*Duted on 
ahead to get a crack at the buffaloes. She wanted to 
come, and as she wouldn’t leave the children, we all bun- 
dled into the wagon and allowed to stay here a couple of 
days before tlie rest of the train came aloiig.’^ 

‘‘ llow many teams are there in your train ? ” asked 
Mont. 

‘‘Twenty-five teams, ten horses, and a hundred «,nd 
seventy-five head of cattle.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Mont, “ you will get along all righ< ” 

“ I ain’t so sure of that, strannger. Tlie train’s gett. ng 
short of grub already ; and if we are able to get to £ ilt 
Lake without being on allowance, we’ll be lucky.” 

“Well, ole man,” put in the wife, “you’ve lost year 
wagon and all yer fixin’s. How’ll ye get to go back to 
the road ? Here’s these young ones to be taken bi ( k 
somehow.” 

One of the men stayed to look for the missing ox^ikn, 
which he never found ; and the other, assisted by Mob^ 
and Arthur, made his way to the emigrant track with thti 


LOSING AND GAINING FRIENDS. 


117 


children. Tliey remained with our boys until night, 
when the well-known Cedar Kapids train, to which they 
belonged, came up and received their unlucky comrades. 

The country at this point grew more broken and woi^dy, 
and, for some reason, the emigrant trains became more 
numerous. Feed for the cattle was not always to be had, 
because there were so many animals to be pastured on the 
short, bunchy buffalo grass of the region. Each separate 
party drove its oxen out among the hills when the camps 
were pitched ; but it was necessary to watch them at night, 
and for this purpose many companies combined, and so 
divided their burdens by standing “ watch and watch 
with each other. 

Mont was anxious about poor old Bally. His foot grew 
continually worse, and it seemed cruel to drive him in the 
team, but there was no help for it. They must get on some- 
how, and Bally, lame though he was, could not be spared 
from the yoke. 

If we only had money enough now,’’ said Arty, “ we 
could buy a steer from some of these droves. There are 
cattle enough and to spare.” 

“ But not money enough and to spare,” responded Hi, 
gloomily. “ If Bally don’t get shut of his lameness, we 
shall have to leave him. And I don’t see no way of 
goin’ through with one yoke of oxen and a cow and one 
old boss.” 

This was the first time the subject had been openly dis- 
cussed with such a despondent conclusion. But each one 
of the party had thought it over by himself. There was 
silence in the camp. Every day they passed cattle and 
horses left by their owners because they were unfit to 
travel. Their dead bodies were common by the way. 
But these were usually animals from large trains, or from 


IIS 


THE BOY EMIORANTii. 


the teams of parties too weak to get along alone, and 
had joined forces with others. Wliat could tliey do! 
asked Aj’tliur to hiinself. Then he said, almost in a 
whispsi t 

‘‘If we ha»e to leave Bally, what shall wo Jo nejt,j 
Hi?'’ 

ni had no answer. But Mont said, decidedly : 

“ 1 shall go on, if I have to walk or take passage ii2 
Bush’s go-car< ? ” 

“ I just b’lieve you’d do it, Mont,” said Hi, with admi- 
ration. “ If the wust comes to the wiist, we can lighten 
our load and hitch up Jim ahead of Tige and Bally’a 
mate, and try that.” 

“ Lighten our load? ” asked Tom. “ How’s that ? We’ve 
thrown out all the loose trucic we could spare.” 

“Tommy, my boy,” said Hi, with gi’eat solemnity, 
“there’s heaps of fellers, this very minute, a*goin’ on to 
Californy and livin’ only on half-rations, fur the sake of 
gettin’ through. I seen a man back at Buffalo Creek 
who allowed that lie hadn’t had a square meal since he 
left the Bluffs, except when he liad buffalo-meat, and 
that is not to be got only now. Bum bye it’ll be out of 
reach.” 

“So you mean to chuck out the flour and bacon, do 
ye ? ” said Tom, with great disgust. 

“ That’s about it, sonny.” 

“ Then I’ll gc back with the first feller we meet bound 
for the States.” 

The others agreed that they would stay by each other 
and get through someliow. Even little Johnny was ap- 
palled at the bare idea of turning bac.k. There waa 
nothing for him behind; his world was all before him; 
his friends were all here with him. 


LOSING AND GAINING FRIENDS, 


119 


But no such necessity overtook them. 

They had looked forward with curiosity to Chimney 
llock, a singular pillar of stone, standing like a round 
chijnney on a cone-shaped mass of rock, on the south bank 



JOHITNY. 


of the Platte. This natural landmark, several hundred 
feet high, is seen long before it can l)e reached by the 
emigrants toiling along the wagon- track b}^ the river. 
Che boys ha.i sighted its tall spire froTU afar, and wlien 


120 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


they camped opposite it, one night, they felt as if th(^ had 
really got into the heart of the continent. They had long 
ago heard of this wonderful rock, and its strange shape, 
apparently scnlptnred by some giant architect, towered 
before their eyes at last. 

“ 1 reckon that there rock must have been pushed up by 
a volcano,’’ said a tall stranger, joining the boys, as they 
were wondering at Chimney Kock, after having camped. 

Perhaps the soft rock and soil which once lay around 
it have been cut away by the rains and winds,” said Bar- 
ney, diffidently. ‘‘ You see the bluffs near by are still 
wasting away from the same cause.” 

“ Like enough, like enough. But what’s the matter with 
that critter of your’n ? ’Pears like he was gone lame.” 

Ili explained the difficulty, and told their visitor that 
they were traveling slowly for the })urpose of making the 
trip as easy as possible for poor Bally. 

“ What ! you don’t drive that beast, do ye ? ” 

‘‘ We have to. We have only two yoke of cattle, count- 
’ng him.” 

“ Well he’ll never get well in the team. Take him out 
and let him crawl on by liimsclf, and mebbe he’ll mend. 
I’ve got one hundred and lifty or sixty head over there,” — 
and tlie stranger pointed to his camp on the other side of 
the road. 

There were three wagons ; two of them were immense 
square-topped affairs, with openings at the side, like a 
Biage-coach door. The people lived in these wagons and 
slept in them at night, having several feather beds packed 
away in their depths. One team was made up wholly oi 
bulls, of which there were four yoke. Just now, the cattle 
were at rest, and two hired men were herding them, while 
the women, of whom there were several, prepared supper 


LOSING AND GAINING FRIENDS, 


121 


My name’s Rose,” the stranger said, when his offer ol 
assistance had been gladly accepted. “ They call us ‘ The 
Roses’ along the road. I have my mother, father, and 
sister along with me ; then there’s Scoofey and his wife 
and baby; and A1 and Aaron, they’re workin’ their pas- 
sage through.” 

^ AVliat part of the country are you from ? ” asked Hi. 

‘‘ Sangamon County, Illinoy,” replied Rose. “ I’ve 
heerd tell of you boys. ‘The Boston Boys’ they call vou 
on tiie trail, don’t they ? ” 

“ No, we are the Lee County boys,” said Mont, smiling. 

“ But,” exclaimed Arthur, “ we are called ‘ The Boston 
Boys’ too ; I’ve often heard that name, lately. Mont here 
is from Boston, Captain Rose.” 

“ It don’t make no difference how you are called, boys, 
and I allow we’ll get along together for a spell. We’re 
traveling the same road, and as long as we are, you’re 
welcome to the use of one of my steers. I allow that 
you’ll be willing to take hold and help us drive the herd 
now and then ? ” 

The boys willingly consented to this arrangement, and 
poor Bally, next morning, was taken out of the yoke and 
allowed to go free in the drove of the Roses. But the 
itilicf came too late. Each day the ox traveled with 
more difficulty. Every morning, before starting, and 
every noon, when stopping for the usual rest. Bally was 
thrown down and his f .)Ot re-shod and cleansed. It was of 
nc avail. Barney took him out of the herd and drove him 
alone, ahead of the rest. But it was agony for the pool 
creature ; he could barely limp along. 

In a day or two the train, now quite a large one, reached 
Ancient Ruins Bluffs, a wonderful mass of rock, resem- 
bling towers, walls, palaces, and domes, worn by time and 
6 


122 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


criunLling to decay. Here the road became rough and 
Btony, and the way by the side of the beaten track was 
hard for the lame ox. Barney and Arthur clung affec- 
tionately to Bally. He was an old friend, and, notwith- 
standing his vicious manner of using his horns, they did 
not like to leave him. Reluctantly, tliey gave him up 
here. They must go on without him, after all. 

When they moved out of camp in the morning. Bally 
who had been lying down watching the preparations for 
the day’s march, got on his feet with difficulty, as if ready 
to go on. 

‘‘Never mind, old fellow,” said Mont. “You needn’t 
botlier yourself. We will leave you hear to feed by your- 
self and get well, if you can.” 

“ Good-by, Bally,” said Arthur, with a little pang, as 
they moved off. The creature stopped chewing his cud 
and looked after his comrades with a wild surprise in 
his big brown eyes. He stood on a little knoll, regarding 
the whole proceeding as if it were an entirely novel turn 
of affairs. 

“ Good-by, Bally,” again said Arty, this time with a 
queer, choking sensation in his throat. Hi actually snuffled 
in his big bandanna handkerchief. Tom, by way of 
changing the subject, walked by Tige’s head, and, looking 
into tne eyes of that intelligent animal, said : 

“ Well ! if there ain’t a tear on Tige’s nose I He’s sorry 
to get shut of Bally, after all 1 ” 

“ Oh, you talk too much,” said Barney, testily. 

So they left Bally looking after them as they climbed 
the ridge and disappeared behind Ancient Ruins Bluffs. 

That very night, as if to supply the place of their lost 
friend, a new acquaintance came to their camp. It was a 
large mongrel dog, yellow as to color, compactly built, 


LOSING AND GAINING FRIENDS, 


123 


and with a fox-like head. Dogs were not common cti the 
plains. This waif had been running along the road alone 
for some days past. The boys had often seen him, and 
had supposed that he belonged to some train behind them* 
11 is feet were sore with travel, and he was evidently 
masterless. 

Poor fellow I ” said Mont, pityingly. Give me tlio 
arnica out of the medicine-chest, and 1 will fix some buck- 
skin socks on his feet.” 

The dog accepted these kind attentions, and, as soon as 
he was let loose again, sat down and deliberately tore ofi 
his moccasins with his teeth. While he was licking his 
sore feet, Johnny, who had been out with Tom, gathering 
fuel on the bluffs, came in with a load on his back. Jle 
dropped his burden with an air of astonishment, and ex« 
claimed : 

‘ Bill Bunce’s dog ! ” 

“ Sho 1 ” said Hi. Wliat’s his name ? ” 

“ Pete,” replied the boy, who could hardly believe hia 
eyes. 

“ Well, Pete,” said Ili, where’s yer master? ’Cordin’ 
to all accounts he’s a bad egg. Pity that there dog can’t 
talk.” 

But Pete had nothing to say. He shyly accepted Arthur’s 
proffers of friendship, and from that moment became a 
regular member of the company. 

“ We’ve got such a lot of grub, I s’pose, we must nee<l8 
take in a yaller dog to divide with,” privately grumbled 
Tom to his brother that night. “ Reckon Arthur ’ll want to 
pick up a jackass rabbit for a pet, next thing you know.” 

“ If you don’t like it, sonny, you can go back, you know,” 
replied Hi, who was cross and sleepy. Pete’s position in 
the camp was assured. 


124 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


A few days after this, while near Fort Laramie, they had 
a chance to dispose of their new friend. Just as they were 
camping, a party of mounted Indians, of the Brule Sioux 
band, came galloping up to their tent. They were si)lendid 
fellows, dressed in the fullest and gayest costume of the 
Indian dandy. Their hair was loosely knotted behind and 
stuck full of brilliantly dyed feathers, which hung down 
tlieir backs. Their buckskin leggings, moccasins aiid 
hunting-frocks were covered with embroidery in colored 
quills, the handiwork of their squaws. Bright red blankets 
dangled down from their shoulders, and about their necks 
were hung strings of shells, beads, and bears’ claws, with 
rude silver ornaments. Tlieir faces were painted with red 
and yellow ochre, and one of them, the chief, wore a tor- 
toise-shell plate over his decorated forehead, like the visor 
of a cap. 

These gorgeous visitors sat stately on their horses, and 
regarded our young emigrants with an air of lofty disdain. 

“ How 1 ” said Mont, who had been taught good manners, 
if the Sioux had not. The chief grunted, ‘‘ Ugh 1 ” in reply 
to this customary salutation. Then he happened to see 
Pete. 

“ You sell him ? ” pointing to the dog. 

No, no,” said Arthur, in a whisper. “ Don’t sell him. 
Mont. He wants to eat him, probably.” 

“ No sell him,” promptly replied Mont. ‘‘ Good dog 
We keep him.” 

Thus rebuffed, the Indians unbent somewhat from theii 
dignity, and the chief, carefully extracting from a bead 
worked pouch a bit of paper, handed it to Barnard with 
the remark, “ You read um.” 

The paper proved to be a certificate from Indian Agent 
Thomans that the bearer was a peaceable Indian, Big 



CAUGHT IN THE 






t 

/ 


( 


LOSING AND GAINING FRIENDS, 


125 


Partisan ’’ by name, and that he and his band were not to 
be molested by white people whom they meet. Tiiese 
dusky visitors, thus introduced, dismounted and stalked 
through the camp, saying nothing, but looking at every tiling 
with stolid gravity. While the rest were ti^^ing to make 
some conversation with the Indians, Arty climbed into the 
wagon to get out some provisions. While ojiening a Hour* 
sack, he saw the lid of the “ feed-box,” at the rear end of 
the wagon, in which were kept their small stores, cups and 
plates, raised from the outside by an unseen hand. Won- 
dering at this, the boy softly worked his way towards the 
box, concealed by the raised cover. A crest of plumes 
now nodded above the lid, and a soft rattle showed that 
some one was fingering the contents of the box. Placing 
both hands on the cover, which sloped toward him, Arty 
gave a sudden push aini broughtit down with a tremendous 
clatter. A superb-looking Indian stood revealed, having 
barely snatched his hands away as the box-cover slammed 
down. 

“How I ” he said, not in the least abashed. Then, raising 
the lid again and curiously examining the hinges, as if ad- 
miring their mechanism, he said : “ Heap good ! White 
man know everything.” 

“ The white man knows too much to let you hook things 
out of his grub -box,” said Arty, angrily. 

The Indian smiled in the blandest manner, and joined 
his companions. The party stayed about the camp some 
time, as if waiting an invitation to sup with the white 
men. But entertainment for Indians was out of the 
question ; there was not piovision enough to spare any foi 
visitoi*8. 

When they went away, Arty said, grumblingly, as lis 
went on with bis preparatims for supoer 


126 


TRE BOY EMIORAKTB, 


“ Now I suppose 1 can turn my back on the wagoi 
without something being stolen.” 

‘‘ Pooh ! Arty thinks he is tlie only one who keep* 
watch,” sneered Tom. 

“ If it hadn’t been for me, that big dandy Indian would 
i\Sive carried off everything in the grub-box,” returned the 
boy, who was cross, tired, and generally out of sorts. He 
was making a buffalo stew for supper, and Barnard, coming 
up, hx>ked into the camp-kettle. 

“ What ! no potatoes ? ” he said, with a tone of disgust. 

‘‘No,” replied Arthur, sharply. No potatoes. We’ve 
only a precious few left. We’ve got to make the most cf 
them.” 

“ I wouldn’t give a cent for a stew without potatoes,” 
remonstrated Barnard. 

“ Nor I neither,” joined in Tom, only too glad to see a 
little unpleasantness between the two brothers. 

“Well, you’ll have to eat a good many things that you 
don’t like, before we get througli — ’specially if I have to 
do the cooking. Barney Grogan thinks too much of what 
he eats, anyhow.” This last shot Arty fired at his brother 
as Barney moved away without a word. 

On the plains, where men are by themselves, little things 
like this sometimes seem to be very important. Men have 
quarreled and fought like wild animals with each other 
over a dispute about flapjacks. Two old friends, on the 
emigrant trail, fought each other with knives because one 
bad twitted the other with riding too often in the wagon. 

Arthur went on with his cooking, feeling very uncom- 
fortable, as well as cross. They had had a weary day’s 
drive, and all hands were fagged. 

“ The worst of it is, I havu to work around this plaguaj 
camp-stove, while the others can lop down and rest/ 


LOSING AND OATNINO FRIENDS. 127 

gnimWed poor Arty to himself, as he became more and 
more heated. 

Ruiming to the wagon for a spoon, after a while, Ai*ty 
stooped and looked into the tent, where the bundles of 
blankets had been tumbled on the ground and lefu 
Ikrney was lying on the heap, fast asleep, and with a tired, 
unhappy look on his handsome face. Arty paused and 
gazed, with a troubled feeling, at his brother lying there 
so unconscious and still. Barney had been sick, and 
the night before he had started up in his sleep crying 
“ JM other ! ” much to Arty’s alarm. 

The boy regarded his brother for an instant with pity, 
as his uneasy sleeping attitude recalled home and home 
comforts. Then he went silently to the wagon, took out 
six of their slender stock of potatoes, pared and sliced 
them, and put them into the stew now bubbling in the 
camp-kettle. Nobody but Hi noticed this ; and he only 
grinned, and said to himself, ‘‘ Good boy ! ” 

Afterwards, when they had squatted about their rude 
supper-table, Barnard uncovered the pan containing the 
stew, w ith an air of discontent. Glancing at Arty, with 
pleased surprise, he said : 

“ Why, you put in potatoes, after all I ” 

Arthur’s cheeks reddened, as he sai^, as if by way of 
apology : 

Mont likes them, you know.” 

Mont laughed ; and so did they all. After that, there 
eras good humor in the camp. 


128 


THE HOT EMIORANTa. 


CHAPTER Xn. 

IN THE HEART OF THE CONTINENT. 

Fort Laramie was not a very interesting p_ace to the 
hoys. It hardly repaid them for the trouble they had in 
crossing the river to get to it. But here they found a 
store kept by an army sutler, and Mont said that lie shoulc 
really enjoy buying something, by way of proving to him- 
self that he was in a spot where something besides Indian 
manufactures were for sale. Arty looked longingly on 
some dry, powdery figs and ancient candy which were 
among the sutler’s stock in trade ; but he compromised 
with himself, and bought five cents’ worth of aged raisins, 
ivliich he generously divided with hib comrades, Tom and 
Johnny. 

They all very much admired the nicely dressed officers^ 
who wore as fine uniforms, and “ put on as many airs ” 
(as Bush said) as if they lived among white folks. Then 
there were houses — real houses — finished with siding and 
painted white, and with stone chimneys. Some of these 
were used on oflicers’ quarters, and some were barracks 
for the soldiers. These they examined with curious in- 
terest. They had seen no houses for several weeks. This 
was a little village in the wilderness. 

At the Cl "^ssing of the South Platte, a few days after, 
the young emigrants found another trading- post. It was 
in a rude log hut on the bank of the stream ; and a very 
queer stock of goods was crow led into it. There 


IN TUB HEART OF THE CONTINENT. 


129 


pipes, mining tools, playing-cards, flour, baccn, sugar, boots 
ai'd shoes, and even buttons, thread, and needles. But the 
})rices ! They were tremendous. Flour was twenty-five 
cents a pound, pipes were a dollar each ; and a little glass 
tumbler of jam, which Tom very much hankered alter, 
was two dollars and a-half. Here, too, was a sort of nows 
exchange ; there were no newspapers, to be sure, except 
one well-worn paper from Gt. Louis, now more than two 
months old, carefully hung over a long string of buck- 
skin, and not permitted to be handled by anybody. But 
the rough-bearded, uncouth men who lounged about the 
place picked up from the trader and half-breed assistant 
such points of information as had been left by those who 
had gone on ahead. They also left here messages for 
friends and acquaintances who were yet behind. 

On the walls of this store in the waste of the continent 
were stuck bits of paper containing rude directions for 
emig]*ants. These were written by men who had gone on 
ab.ead and had sent back some report of their experience. 
For instance, one scrap was . 

35 miles from this post to Hoss Crik. Dont stop at Wilier springs 
which it is no springs and feed mighty pore. 

Bight under this was another b illetin, which read : 

Nigh 60 miles to Sweetwater — powerful bad road till you get to 
independence Rock — blacksmith shop and tradin post — the traders a 
thiet 

Some charitable person had rubbed thief ’’ from this 
notice, and had widtten in good feller ” instead ; but 
both titles stayed there. 

You pays yer money and takes yer choice,” said Bash, 
grimly, as he read this gazette. “ But I’ll bet the fual 
man was right.” 


130 


THE BOY RM 10 RANTS. 


Here, too, they learned that the ferryman at Colnm 
huB,” or the Loup Fork crossing, had been robbed. 

“ When ^^'as that ? ” asked Mont. 

“ I allow it was about the middle of June. Me ard my 
pard, we crossed there June the ten, and it was some time 
after that,” explained a short, thick-set fellow, whom the 
boys had met before somewhere. 

“Well, we passed there on the fifth of June,” said Bar- 
nard. “Did the thieves get away with much money?” 

“ Nigh onto five hundred dollars, I’ve heard tell ; but 
thar’s no knowin’ ; it mouglit have been five thousand 
That mean skunk took in heaps of coin at the ferry.” 

“ Does he suspect anybody ? ” 

“ Couldn’t say ; ’twas after I war thar. How’s that, 
Dave ? ” said he, addressing another lounger. 

“ I came by there the day after the robbery,” replied 
Dave. “ Old Columbus was off on the trail of a couple 
of suspicious characters who had swam the fork with their 
horses, about four miles up stream. The boys at the 
ferry said the old man had a good descrij)tion of the 
•diaps whom they suspicion ed. One of ’em had a hare-lip, 
•ind ’tother had a game leg.” 

“ A game leg I ” exclaimed Johnny. “ That’s Bill 
Ounce ! ” 

“ And who is Bill Bunce, my little kid ? ” asked the 
stranger, turning to the boy. 

“ Oh, he’s a scaly feller that left tliL boy to shift for 
himself, away back on the river. But you aint noways 
certain that this thief was Bill Bunce, Johnny, you know,” 
said Hi. 

The lounging emigrants were so much kindled by this 
bit of possible evidence in the Loup Fork robbery, infor* 
mation of which had slowly overtaken them here, that 


IN THE HEART OF THE CONTINENT. 131 

they gathered around and expressed their opinions very 
freely about Bill Bunce. 

“ lie’ll swing from the first tree he meets after some of 
us fellers finds him on the trail, now ye bet yer life,” was 
one eommcnt. 

“ Thars nary tree between hero and Bridger big 
enough to hang a man on, ’cordin’ to them things,” said 
another, waving his pipe toward the rude bulletins on the 
cabin wall. “ See, nothin’ but ‘ No wood ’ on ’em, from 
here to Salt Lake, so far as I kin see.” 

The boys, after this, did find a rough road, and they 
were glad enough that they were within reach of help. 
Rose’s drove of cattle was drawn upon often for fresh I’e- 
iiruits for the yoke. Here, tcx), they found the springs 
often poisoned with alkali. Some of the shallow pools 
were colored a dark brown with the alkali in the soil. 
Others were white about the edges with a dry powder 
which looked and tasted like saleratus. The cattle re- 
fused to drink the stuff ; and now, along the track, tlicy 
Tiet a great many animals turned out to die, suffering 
^om the effects of the alkali which they carelessly lapj)ed 
up with their scanty feed. Here and there they met a 
few poor fellows limping along with all their possessions 
packed on their backs. These had lost their cattle, one 
by one, and had been obliged to abandon their wagons 
Biid baggage. Taking a sack of flour, a frying pan, a few 
j»iece6 of “ side meat,” or bacon, some coffee, and a tin cup, 
these courageowj fellows went forward, determined to get 
through, somehow. Usually they managed to sell some 
part of their outfit. The rest they left by the side of the 
wagon track. But, begging, borrowing, or buying from 
day to day, they trudged on with their faces turned west- 
ward — always westward. 


J32 


THE DOT EMIGRANTS. 


“ Hello 1 what’s that on that wagon ? — Or Bust ’ — and 
a gaudy old wagon it is,” said Hi, one day. 

The wagon was a two-wheeled affair, drawn by one 
yoke of oxen, and looking exactly like one-half of what 
n light have been long vehicle. On the canvas was painted 
tlie words, “ Or Bust,” which had attracted Hi’s attention. 

This strange-looking craft was creeping along in the 
shadow of Independence Bock, when overtaken by our 
party. Barnard, recognizing the good-natured young 
fellow who was driving, said : 

“ What’s happened to your wagon since we saw you at 
Council Bluffs ? ” 

The man laughed lightly, and replied : ‘‘ Well, you see, 
Jake and I, we couldn’t agree with our pardners — Jake’s 
brother Joe and Bill Jenness — so vve divided.” 

“ How ? Divided everything ? ” 

“ Sartin, sartin. We couldn’t go on without a wagon, 
you know. So we sawed the old thing in two. Thar was 
a ch’ice ; the fore part had the tongue, and we played a 
game of seven-up for the ch’ice. Joe and Bill held over 
as — beat us by one p’int ; and they’ve gone on with their 
share of the waggin.” 

I “ So your brother Joe has gone with the ‘ California ’ 
part of your wagon 1 ” said Mont, addressing Jake Bussell, 
one of a quarrelsome family. 

“ That’s about the size of it,” surlily replied Jake. “ It 
was ‘ Californy or Bust.' Joe and Bill have got the ‘ Cali 
forny’ and we’ve got the ‘Bust.’ Ilo'svsoever, if you go 
round on the other side, you’ll see we ’ve got ‘ Californy ’ 
there, too. We’ve got the entire thing, but a feller has 
to go all around us to see it.” 

‘‘Couldn’t you agree about the road?” asked Hi, with 
some curiosity. 


ry THE HEART OP THE CONTINEyT, 


133 


‘‘ N o, it was beans.” 

Beans ? ” said Hi, opening his eyes. 

^ Tes, beans,” answered Jacob, growing angry. ^ ' 
dtm’t give in to no ornery half-baked sucker, even if he ia 
iny brother. An’ when it comes to beans cooked in a 
ground oven, when wood is plenty, and you have time, to 
dig yer oven and can spare yer camp-kettle long encugii 
to bake ’em over night, I ’m thar. But beans is better and 
more economical-like stewed. Leastways, I think so. Joe, 
he don’t think so. Bill Jenness — well, he always was a 
pore shoat — he don’t think so. So we divided the plunder 
and are going through. Gee ! Lion I — whar be yer goin’ 
to ? The most obstinatest steer I ever see. Good day ! ” 

And the men who preferred their beans stewed drove 
on. 

Independence Rock was such a famous landmark that 
our boys could not pass it without climbing it. The rock 
is an immense ledge, rising nearly one hundred feet from 
the ground ; it is almost flat on top, and covers a space 
e(|ual to an acre or two. All around it the country ia 
undulating, but without any large rocks. Independence 
Rock looms up like a huge flat bowlder left there by mis- 
take when the world was built. Resting their team, the 
party scrambled up the enormous mass. The top was 
worn by the flow of uncounted ages. Here and there 
were depressions in which little pools left by the late raina 
were standing ; and all around on the smooth places of 
the rock, were chiseled the names, or initials, of passing 
emigrants. Some of these were laboriously carved, some 
were painted with the soft tar which should have been 
saved to use on wagon wheels. On the perpendicular wall 
of the rock, facing the west, was a roughly cut inscriptioB 
setting forth how “ Joshua F. Gibbonson, a native of Hor 


134 


THE BOY EMI0RANT8. 


way, aged 24 yrs,” was buried near. Another gave the 
name and age of a y oung woman, also sleeping cloee al 
Liiiid 



ABTHTTK. 

Arthur, walking over the multitude of letters inscnl>ed 
on the top of the rock, suddenly paused, and, kx)kiii^ 
down at his feet, exclaimed : “ Bill Bunce 1 ’’ 


IN THE HEART OF THE CONTINENT. 133 

The rest, hurrying up, saw on the rugged surface thig 
inscription : W. J3unce. 

“But his name is Bill. That’s a W,” said Johnny^ 
gazing at the mysterious letters with a sort of fascination. 

Mont and Barney laughed, and Arty said : “ To be sure 
his name is Bill, but it was William before it was Bill, 
and so he spells it with a W.” 

“ I don’t believe it’s Bill Bunce, anyhow,” said Hi, 
“ He wouldn’t be such a fool as to leave his name like 
that here, where he knows people are looking for him.” 

Mont got down on his knees to inspect the letters, as iJ 
he thought they might give him some clue to the man 
who had carved them, and had then gone on, leaving this 
mute witness behind him. He shook his head, and said : 

“ I don’t know. Hi. Guilty men, somehow, always drop 
something by which they can be traced. If he stole old 
Columbus’s money, it is just as likely as not he would be 
foolish enough to put this here. Anyhow, 1 guess this is 
Bill Bunco’s autograph.” 

Nothing positive came of the discussion; but J'^himy 
lingered over the letters, and murmured to himself : 

“ If they could only tell, now ! ” 

“But they are silent letters, Johnny,” whispered Arty, 
who had stayed behind with his little mate. The boy 
laughed, without understanding why, and the youngsters 
left the inscription still staring up to the sky above the 
rock. 

Passing Devil’s Gate, and camping on the western side 
of that famous gap a few days after, the boys felt that they 
were at last in the Bocky Mountains. The Gate is a huge 
chasm, its black rocky walls towering up on either side. 
Westward is a grassy plain, dotted with trees, and afford 
ing a charming camping-ground. Here the young erai 


136 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


grants pitched their tent, in the midst of a mighty coju- 
pany. From a hundred camp-tires arose the odors cl 
many suppers, and, as the sun went down behind the 
purple peaks, the cheerful groups made a pretty picture, 
framed by the blue and gray ledges, covered with vines, 
which stretched around the amphitheatre. 

“ That’s a mighty knowin’ dog of your’n,” said a visitor 
lounging by the camp-stove and watching Arty cooking 
flap-jacks. 

“ Yes,” said Arty, It’s agreed that he is to have everj 
flap-jack that 1 lose when 1 toss ’em up — so;” and he 
tossed his pan dexterously in the air, and brought his flap 
jack down again in it, brown side up. 

“ Sometimes when the wind blows, I can’t exactly cab 
culate the force of it, and away goes the flap-jack over on 
the grounds That’s Pete’s, and he goes for it before i\ 
lights. He can tell whether it will miss the pan or not.” 

‘^And I’ll match Arty at tossing flap-jacks with anj 
grown man on the plains,” said Hi, with a glow of honest 
pride. “ You bet that dog don’t get many, ’cept when 
the wind blows variable-like.” 

Just then, Pete who was assiduously gnawing a bone, 
ran to Arty, crying with pain, and put his head on the 
boy’s knee. Arthur tenderly stroked the poor brute’s jaw, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Poor old Pete 1 You see he has had a bad blow on 
the side of his head at some time. I think some of tha 
small bones are broken. "VVIicn he gets his jaw into a cei^ 
tain i^osition, it hurts him confoundedly, and he runs to 
me. I found out that I could relieve him by softly pressing 
the place — so fashion. See I ” 

A sudden light gleamed in the man’s face, and he 
Baid: 


IN THE HEART OF THE OONTINENT. 


137 


‘‘ I know that dog. I saw him back cn the Platte with 
& couple of chaps — scamps I should say. One had a game 
leg, and I saw him bang that very identical dog with tha 
butt of his gun, just because he seared up a big jack rabbit. 
Powerful cruel it was.” 

“ Aha 1 ” said Barney. That’s Bill Bunce again. Where 
was this, stranger ? ” 

“ Well, I disremember now. But I allow it was on the 
other side of Chimney Rock, say about the latter part of 
June.” 

“ That would give the thieves time to come up from 
Loup Fork,” said Barney, who told their visitor the story 
of Bill Bunce and his companions. But the stranger 
declared that the only companion of the man with the dog 
was a fellow with a hare-lip. lie added: 

‘‘And I just believe that there dog got up and dusted 
out of that, he was treated so all-tired mean.” 

Soon after this, the emigrants entered the great passage 
through the mountains — South Pass. It was not easy to 
realize that they were actually going over the Rocky 
Mountains. The emigrant road gradually ascended the 
enormous ridge which forms the backbone of the conti- 
nent — so gradually that the ascent was hardly noticed. To 
the north and south were grand peaks, purple in the dis- 
tance, silvery with streaks of snow, and piercing the 
clouds. Nearer, the gray masses were broken into chasms, 
and were partly covered with a stunted growth of trees. 
As tliey pressed on, the road mounted higher and higher. 
Put the way was easy, broad, and pleasant to travel. The 
nights were cold — so cold that the boys wen thanltful for 
the shelter of their tent ; and they cowered under all the 
Diankets and coverings they could collect. But the days 
weje hot, and though the tra'^elers might turn out in the 


138 


TUB BOT EMIGRANTS. 


morning air, their teeth chattering with coU, they march^id 
along at noon perspiring in the sun. 

Snow crept down nearer and nearer to their track, from 
up among tlie steep slopes which hung above the pass. 
While camping one day in this region, Captain Koso and 
some of our boys went up to the snow-banks and had a 
July game of snow-ball. They brought back flowers 
gathered at the edge of the melting snow ; and they re- 
ported butterflies and mosquitoes fluttering over tlie banks, 
as if brought to life by the dazzling sun. These reports 
seemed like travelers’ tales, difflcult of belief, but they 
were all verifled to the satisfaction of the unbelievers. 

One day, they reached a spring of which tliey had often 
heard. They approached it with a certain feeling of awe. 
It was on the dividing ridge of the continent. It wae 
a boggy pool, rising out of a mass of rock and turf, 
trampled by many feet and spreading out into a consid- 
erable space. Some wayfarer had set up a rude sign 
board, on which was inscribed the name — “Pacific Spring.” 
Stepping from rock to rock, the boys made their way to 
the fountain-head, and silently gazed on tlie source of a 
stream that divided itself between the Atlantic and the 
Pacific. 

Here the emigrant trail pitched abruptly down a rocky 
canon to the west. The water flowing from the spring and 
saturating the grassy soil, was parted by a low, sharp 
ledge of rock. From this, two little rivulets crept away, 
one to the east, one to the west. One gurgled down into 
the canon, was joined by numberless runnels from thi 
Buow-jieaks above, meandered away for many miles, sanl 
into Green River, flowed south and west to the Colorado, 
entered the Gulf of California, and was lost in the Pacific, 
7’he other slipped silently down the long slope by whicl 


IN THE HEART OF THE CONTINENT, 


139 


che boy emigrants had come, joined itself to other tiny 
streams, and so, finding the far-off Missouri, by tlie way of 
the Yellowstone, reached the Mississippi, the Gulf of 
Mexico, and the Atlantic. 

Go, little stream,” said Mont, and tell the folks at 
hcrac that we have left the old world. Boys I this is a 
new world before us now.” 

‘‘We are on the down-hill grade,” added Hi. “ We can 
scoot to Calif orny now. Westward it is, and wo are agoiu’ 
with the stream.” 

Barney turned and looked back. “We are on the wall. 
Shall we go down on the other side, Arty ? ” 

But Arty said : “ I should be glad if 1 could send a 

message back to the folks at Sugar Grove. It would be 
like a message out of the sea. As long as we can’t ilo tliat, 
suppose we follow the other stream to tne Pacific ? ” 

“ We cannot be sentimental over this spring, my boy,” 
said Mont, laughing. “But, as Hi says, we are going 
with the current now. That’s it! Westward is the 
word 1 ” 

“ Come on, boys 1 ” shouted Captain Rose, from the 
down-hill road. “ It’s a rough drive yet to Sunset Canon.’* 
Sc the young fellows followed the stream, and turned 
tiieir faces a^rain to the west 


140 


THE DOT EM10RANT& 


CHAPTER XIIL 

LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 

Waugh ! how I hate hog-meat ? ” exclaimed Parnard^ 
looking in his plate of fried bacon, with an expression ol 
extreme disgust. 

And no game since week before last,” added Arthur 
dolefully. 

When you can’t get butter, you must make salt pork 
do, my old grandmother used to say,” was Mont Morse’s 
wise comment on this outbreak of discontent. “We en 
listed for the campaign with hog-meat, boys, and you won’t 
back out now, will you ? ” 

“ But we did reckon on more game, you know,” argued 
Barney; “and we have had precious little since we got 
out of the antelope country. 

“ You disremember the dogs and frogs,” said Hi, with 
a grimace. 

Both the Stevens boys lauglied. When they were in 
the prairie-dog region, they had killed and eaten all the 
animals they could get at. But Hi had steadfast^ refused 
to “eat dog,” as he expressed it, and his brother Tom had 
thought it necessary to follow his example. It was in a ain 
that Mont had urged that “ prairie-dogs ” were not dogs 
at all, but a kind of marmot ; that they fed on roots and 
vegetables, and that their meat was as sweet and wholo 
some as that of rabbits. 

“ You needn’t tell me,” was Hi’s constant repiy. “ The^ 


LAUGHTER AND TEARS, 


141 


8et up on eend and bark just like dogs. They live with 
rattlesnakes and owls, and they are not fit for a white man 
to eat. Fremont may eat dogs, but I won’t, until I’m 
Btarving.” 

His refusal to partake of this strange food, as he con- 
sidered it, gave the others a larger share. The prairie- 
dogs, numerous though they were, were never plenty in 
the camp. They sat up cunningly on their haunches and 
barked at the hunters, very much in the squeaky fashion 
of toy-dogs ; but, when shot at, they tumbled into their 
holes and were seldom recovered, even though severely 
wounded. They posted themselves by the opening of 
their dens, each one a sentinel to warn of danger. When 
they fell over, their comrades below dragged them into 
the burrow, where the young hunters could hear them 
whining and crying, in a half-human fashion, over their 
wounds. They were good to eat, but tender-hearted 
Arthur, much as he desired a change from their diet of 
‘‘ side-meat,” never could take pleasure in killing the 
pretty little creatures. 

As for frogs, when the party occasionally reached a 
pond of melted snow-water, warmed by tlie summer sun 
and musical with frogs, Mont rolled up his trousers, and, 
armed with a thick stick, waded in and slew them, right 
and left. 

‘‘ But Boston folks consider them a great luxury,” he 
remonstrated, when Hi and Tom expressed their profound 
disgust at such a proceeding. “Take off the hind-logs, 
skin them and fry them — what can you want better ? ” 

“ Hog-meat,” replied Hi, sententiously. 

But it must be confessed that Hi looked on witn in- 
terest while Mont and Barnard daintily nibbled at the 


142 


THE BOY EMIORANTS, 


delicate bones of the frogs’ legs, nicely browned and haT 
ing all the appearance of fried chicken. 

“ Stands to reason,” niuttercd Hi, with his month 
watering, “ that frogs is vermin, and vermin ain’t fit to 
eat.” 

They were drawing near Salt Lake City now, and ever 
the small game which Hi and Tom despised was no longer 
to be had. Occasionally they shot a hare, one of the 
long-eared, long-legged kind known as the jackass-rabbit. 
Sage-hens, too, had been plentiful in some localities, and 
though the flesh of these was dark and bitter with the 
wild sage on which they fed, the addition of a brace of 
them to their daily fare was a great event. Now, how- 
ever, they were reduced to their staple of smoked ‘‘ hog- 
rneat ” once more. 

They had been lying by for a few days, hoj)ing that they 
might find some game while they recruited their stock 
John Itose and Mont had scoured the country with their 
rifles, but they brought back nothing from their long 
tramps. Flour biscuit, fried salt meat, and coffee without 
milk, formed their regular bill of fare now. The cows in 
the drove had ceased to give milk, and the boys were re- 
duced to the ‘‘ short commons ” which they had been taught 
to e:xpect. 

Nevertheless, they were better provided than many 
emigrants whom they met on the way. A company of Ger- 
mans, with whom they traveled, had nothing in their stc rwi 
but smoked sausages, flour, and coffee. 

“No sugar? ” asked Arty, in amazement. 

“Neill,” civilly replied the genial German. 

“ No baking-powders ? no salt ? ” 

“ Nein. No kraut,” responded the traveler with gloom 
in his face. 


LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 


143 


nevertheless, the light-hearted Germans had a merry 
camp. And, when they marched on by day, they locked 
anas over eacli other’s shoulders, and kept step to the 
music of their own songs, singing as they went. 

Queer chaps those singing Dutchmen,” mused ITi, as 
he watched them, day by day striding along and singing 
the marching songs of their native land. The boys heard 
me of their favorite pieces so often that Mont caught the 
woi-ds and wrote them down. So one day, to the astonish- 
ment of the rest of the party, Mont and Arty locked armg 
and marched down the trail, singing thus : 

Wohlauf in Gottes schone Welt ! 

Ade! ade! adel 

Die Luft ist blau, und griin dafl Feld— 

Ade 1 ade ! ade I 
Die Berge gliih’n wie Edelstein ; 

Ich wandre mit dem Sonnenschein 
In’a weite Land hinein. 

Ade I ade 1 

Dn trante Stadt am Bergeehang, 

Ade ! ade ! ade 1 

Du hoher Thurm, du Glockenklang, 

Ade ! ade I ade 1 
Ihr Hauser alle, wohl bekannt, 

Ncch einmal wink’ ich mit der Hand, 

Und nun seitab gewandt 1 
Ade 1 ade 1 

An meinem Wege flieszt der Bach — 

Ade ! ade ! ade I 

Der ruft den letzten Grusz mir naoh— > 

Ade ! ade ! ade 1 

Aah, Gott I da wird bo eigen mir, 

Bd miJde weh’n die Liifto hier, 

Alfl war’s ein Grusz von dir — 

Ade I ade I 


144 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


Ein Grusz von dir. du schlankes Kind — 

Ade I ade t ade ! 

Doch ntm den Berg hinab geschwind — 

Ade ! ade I ade I 

Wer wandem will, der darf nicht steh’n, 

Ber darf niemals zuriicke seh’n, 

Mobz immer weiter geh’n. 

Ade ! ade I 

“Blit that’s Dutch!” exclaimed Hi. ‘Give us tb« 
English of it ! ” 

“ No ; it’s German,” said Arty, laughing at his success 
as a “ Singing Dutchman.” 

“What’s the odds?” replied Hi. “It’s as Dutch as 
Dutch kin be. I don’t see no difference between Dutch 
and German.” 

“ Well,” said Mont, “ we will give you the English of it 
some day.” And when, not long after, Mont read his 
translation of the verses by the night camp-fire, the whole 
party were loud in their praises of their marching-song. 

“ It’s a great thing to be a scholar,” sighed Hi, with a 
glance of envy at the rude verses of the young “ Boston 
feller.” And he murmured, with a thrill of honest admira- 
tion : “ That thar feller kin set a wagon-tire with any 
man on the plains. It do beat all how some folks is 
gifted 1 ” 

They overtook the “ Singing Dutchmen,” one bright day 
Boon after this, and great was the delight of those sturd}' 
trampers to see our boys marching by, sedately singing aa 
they went Mont’s free translation of their own song, some* 
thing like this: 

Forward in God’s beautiful world ! 

Farewell I farewell I fareweU ! 

The sky is blue, and green the fields- - 
FareweU 1 fareweU 1 fare^ ell I 


LAUGHTER AND TEAR8, 


\n 


The mountainB gleam like jewels bright ; 

I wander in the warm sunlight, 

Far into distant lands. 

Farewell I farewell! 

Dear village by the mountain-side, 

Farewell I farewell ! farewell I 
Thou lofty tower, ye chiming bells, 

Farewell ! farewell ! farewell I 
Ye happy homes, well-known to me. 

Toward you once more I wave my hand. 

But turn away mine eyes 1 
Farewell I farewell ! 

Beside my pathway flows the brook— 

Farewell I farewell ! farewell 1 
Which calls to me a last farewell — 

Farewell I farewell ! farewell ! 

Ah, Heaven above, so sad am 1 1 
The zephyrs float so softly by, 

As if they brought from thee a sigh — 

Farewell I farewell I 

From thee a sigh, though fairest maid ! 

Farewell ! farewell 1 farewell 1 
But down the hill-side now I speed — 

Farewell ! farewell 1 farewell ! 

For he who wanders must not pause. 

Nor once behind him cast his glance. 

But forward, forward march. 

Farewell 1 farewell ! 

Ach 1 it is better as never vas,” cried the licnc«i 
Germans. 

‘‘ Where get you so much good song, mine friend t ^ ” 
asked one of the party, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 

We borrowed it from you,” said Mont, modestly. “ I 
hope you don’t think us rude.” ^ 

7 


146 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


“Itudt? It is a what you call a gompliment, and we 
to you are much obliged,” was the hearty reply. 

He did it, all by himself,” said Hi, proudly. '' He 
turned it into English from Dutch, and he sings it bulb 
ways like a reg’lar medder-lark — so he does.” 

“Yaw,” answered the German emigrant, as if in doubt 
whether he understood Hi’s explanations. 

Barnard, not to be outdone, drilled Arthur and Tom in 
a marching-song of his own, and one day produced this 
novelty. 

“ Wlien we lived in Vermont,” said Barney, “ there 
was a military company in our village. There were not 
men enough to make two companies, the place was so 
small. So the same men appeared as an infantry com- 
pany one month, and as an artillery company the next. 
They had a snare drum and a bass drum when they turned 
out as infantry ; but when they paraded as artillery, with 
one cannon, they had a spare man, so they used to carry 
two bass drums and the snare drum. This is the way the 
infantry band went.” And Bai-ney got up and marched 
around the camp-fire, Arty and Tom following with — 

“ Boomer lacker 1 boomer lacker I 
Boom I boom I boom 1 
Boomer lacker ! boomer lacker 1 
Boom 1 boom ! boom 1 


Everybody laughed uproariously at tlie whimsical sight 
of the lads, who were half-undi-esscd for the night, as they 
pai'aded around and about, chanting the odd melody of 
the village drum-corps. Then, with solemn step and slow, 
they changed their marching tune to the statf lier music of 
tJie artillery band. 


LAUQETRR AED TEARS. 141 

“ Hero g»D the two bass drums and the tenor,’ cried 

Arty. 

‘ ‘ Boom dum dardy ! Boom dum dardy I 
How’s your marm ? 

Boom dum dardy 1 Boom dum dardy ! 

How’s your marm ? 

Oh, she’s boozy, boozy, boozy, boozy I 
Boom dum dardy 1 Boom dum dardy I ” 

&c., &c. 

TIo I ho I what nonsense I ” roared Hi. But it’s just 
like a couple of bass drums. I think I here ’em now ” — 
and, lying back on his pile of blankets, Ili laughed again, 
Mont and the rest joining in the chorus. 

The boys practised this marching song as they had the 
others, and their fellow-travelers were often thereafter 
edified with the rough music which the party made as they 
stepped out with alacrity, chanting — 

“ Boomer lacker 1 boomer lacker ! 

Boom 1 boom I boom I ” 

Or they assumed a more funeral gait as they walked, and 

BUllg— 

“ Boom dum dardy I Boom dum dardy I 
How’s your marm ? ” 

Their laughter was hushed when Kance, whose family 
had come up with them lately, marched up to their tent 
one nisrht with the solemn announcement of ‘‘ The baby’s 
dead ! ” 

‘‘ What baby ? ” they asked, with a startled air. 

‘‘Just like stoopid men-folks, you air I ” replied the girl. 
But she addei, with a softened tone: “Why, it’s the 
Messer folkses baby. Them that was upsot in Dry Creek 
and had a lovely bonnit along.” 


148 


THE BOT EMIGRANTS. 


“ It was the sick baby that we tended down there ]U 8 | 
this side of Papeses, ye know, Arty,’’ said Tom, with 
solemnity. 

Old Mrs. Rose, Captain John’s mother, who sat neai by, 
said : “ I knowed she’d never raise that there child. It 
alius was a weakly thing. It’s a marcy it’s took away 
now ” — and the good old woman knocked the ashes out of 
her pipe, and sighed. 

“ Death in the camp,” thought Barney to himself, and 
he looked around and wondered how it would seem if 
death was in their camp as it was in their neighbor’s. Ilia 
eyes rested lovingly on his brother’s golden head, and he 
asked : “ Can we be of any service, do you think, Nance ? ’' 

“ I reckon. The baby’s to be buried at sun-up to-mor- 
row ; and dad said if one of you fellers would go down to 
the mouth of the cafLon with him to-night, he’d help dig 
a little grave.” And the girl turned away to hide her 
tears as she uttered the words so full of sadness to all ears. 

The boys eagerly volunteered to assist in everything 
that was to be done ; and by the edge of a dry ravine, 
under a lone tree, they hollowed a little cell before they 
slept. 

Next day, before the camps were broken up, all of the 
emigrants on the ground gathered about the wagon of the 
Messers, where a little white bundle was lying on a pile 
of yokes, covered smoothly with a blanket. On this white 
sliape was laid a poor little knot of stunted cactus-flowers, 
the 01 dy blooming thing which the arid plains produced. 
Near by was the mother, crouched on the ground and 
moaning to herself “Such a little thing!— such a little 
thing ! ” 

“ It’s powerful rough to have to bury the I aby out yera 


LAUGHTER AND TEARS, 149 

in the wilderness-like,” complained the father. I wish 1 
hadn’t a-corae.” 

“Don’t take on so, ole man,” said his wife. “He’s 
)»etter on’t — he’s better on’t.” 

The youngest boys raised the burden at a signal from 
Captain Hose. They bore it to the open grave, all the 
company following with uncovered heads. Then the little 
white bundle was lowered tenderly into the earth. The 
tearful mother picked up the yellow cactus-flowers, which 
had fallen to the ground, kissed them and cast them in. 
Then stout branches of sage-brush, were laid over the 
figure beneath, forming a shelter from the soil. 

A white-haired old man, the patriarch of one of the 
companies, lifted up his hands and prayed by the open 
grave. There was a stifled sigh here and there in the little 
assemblage when he spoke of “ the loved ones left behind,” 
and of others “ who had gone on before.” Then he said 
a few pleasant and cheery words to the mourning parents, 
who were leaving their only child here alone in the heart 
of the continent. 

“ And yet/’ he said, “ not here, but up yonder,” and he 
pointed upward, where Nance, whose wondering eye in- 
roluntarily followed the speaker’s, saw a little bird cheeri- 
ly winging its solitary way across the rosy sky. She 
plucked her mother’s sleeve and whispered : “ I’m so glad 
1 picked them posies I ” 

The grave was fllled up, the simple ceremony was over, 
and each party betook itself to preparing for another day’s 
journey. 

“ Poor little thing ! ” said Mont. “ Its journey is done 
early ; and it rests j ust as well here as anywhere.” 

“ I’m glad they buried it in the morning,” added Ar- 
thur. “ It is not nearly so sad as it is in the evening, when 


160 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


the shadows creep and creep, just as if they would never 
stop creeping. Seems to me it’s a good thing to bury 
children at sunrise. 1 don’t know why, though.” 

Neither do I, Arty,” said Hi ; but a buryin’ is a 
solemn thing, for all that. I allow it’s the solemnest thing 
agoin’. I was a-thinkin’ just now, when we was takin’ 
down the tent, of a hymn my sister Painely Ann used to 
sing. By gum, now ! I’ve forgot the words, but they’re 
powerful nice,” added Hi, looking rather foolish. “ Some- 
thing about pitching your tent, anyhow.” 

“Oh, yesl I remember,” said Arty, brightly; “it ia 
this: 

“ • Here in the body pent, 

Absent from thee I roam, 

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent 
A day’s march nearer home.* ** 

“ That’s it I that’s it ! Good boy, Arty ! ” said Hi, with 
shining eyes. “ Now, d’yer know, I often have them thar 
words a-buzzin’ through my head when we set up the tent, 
nights, all along this } ere trail ?” 

“ So do I, Hi,” answered Mont. “ And so 1 do when 
we take it down next day, because, somehow, the place 
where we have spent even one night seems like home when 
we leave out of doors, as it were, and go on, knowing we 
shall never see it again.” 

“ Well, we’re getting really sentimental, Mont,” said 
Biii’iiard, “ and all along of that little funeral.” 

“ 1 allow that a funeral, big or little, is the solemnest 
thing out. ^Vlloa haw I Bally I whar in thunder are yer 
goin’ ter ? ” And Hi drove on in the train that moved out 
of camp. 

Nance trudged alcmg in the dust behind the Missouri- 
an’s wagon, holding on by one hand to the tail-Voard, by 


LAUGHTER AND TEARS, 


151 


way of speechless sympathy. The poor mother sat looking 
out from the wagon-cover as the team moved slowly away. 
She saw the deserted camping-ground, where a few dying 
fires were smoldering in ashes. She even marked the 
lame and worn out steer that some emigrant had left be- 
lli iid, and which now stood looking wistfully after the 
departing train. But most she noted the little mound, 
fresh with yellow earth, and decently fenced about with 
broken wagon- tires, by the lone tree. The morning sun 
gilded the small heap of soil and deluged all the plain 
with unsupportable brightness. She shaded her eyes with 
her hand and moaned : “ Such a little thing I — such a little 
thing ! ” 

Nance’s brown hand closed tenderly on the woman’s 
gown, and a few gracious tears dropped in the dust as 
the walked. 


152 


TEE EOT EMIQHANTtL 


CHAPTEK XIV. 

IN MORMONDOM. 

The way now grew more and more crowded. It seemed 
as if tlie teams sprang out of the earth, they were so numei 
oils, and they collected on the trail so suddenly day by day. 
Desperate characters, too, became more frequent as the 
tide of emigration drew near the city of the Great Salt 
Lake. There was much talk about hostile Indians. The 
boys had heard this before, when passing through the 
Koeky Mountains. Once or twice, they knew of Indian 
attacks before or behind them ; and one day they had over- 
taken a party of emigrants who had lost three of their 
party during one of these attacks. They saw, with their 
own eyes, the bullet-holes in the wagons of this company, 
and they had helped to bury the men left dead on the 
ground, after the iii-ing was over and the cowardly Indiana 
were gone. 

During that exciting and alarming time, they had 
mounted guard every night with the full belief that they 
might be fired upon before morning. The cattle were kepi 
near the camp, and the wagons were placed close together, 
go that, in case of an attack, they could be arranged in the 
form of a circle, like a fort. I' those days, while in a 
hostile country, they had plenty of company for mutual 
Hssistance, however, and they almost lost the pleasant little 
privacy of their own camp. They traveled with a crowd ; 
♦hev (tamped with a crowd Namte’s father. Philo Dobbs. 


[IN MORMONDOM, 


153 


and her mother^ and Nance herself, formed one small 
pji rty ; and they were glad to keep along with the Rosea 
and our boys, for the sake of better security from danger 

Now there were rumors of the Goshoots being about^ 
and as the Goslioots were a marauding tribe of Indians, 
though not so warlike as the Cheyennes, then very un- 
friendly, the emigrants were uneasy. Between Foit 
Bridger and Salt Lake City was a very bad section of 
road. The country was sandy and dry. Here and there 
were springs of poisonous water, and the undulating sur- 
face of the ground was dotted with clumps of grease-weed 
and sage-brush ; there was nothing for the animals to feed 
on, and no water fit to drink. To get through this desolate 
region, the emigrants traveled night and day or, rather, 
one day and one night. 

The moon was nearly at the full, and the night was 
pleasant and cool. As they drove on through the shadowy 
hollows and over the ghostly ridges, in the moonlight, ut- 
terly in the wilderness, even the cattle seemed to think 



bush’s go-cart. 


iomething unusual was going forward. Tige turned hie 
head, every now and then, and looked at Arthur, as much 
7 * 


154 


TUB BOY EMIGRANTS, 


as to say, “ Queer doings these, my boy.” And Pete, whc 
never barked except on great occasions, stalked along bj 
the side of the team, growling with suppressed excitement. 
Everybody felt nervous and ‘‘ scary,” as Bush expressed it, 
but very little was said, and the company swept on, wagon 
after wagon, bands of cattle, men on foot and men on 
liorseback, silently ])ressing on in the night, in the midst 
of a wild, strange country, with danger lurking near and 
aix unknown and untrodden S])ace before them. 

About midnight, when the men were l)eginning to feel 
drowsy, when the women had climbed into the wagons to 
sleep, and the cattle showed their fatigue by lagging, a 
sudden panic seized the whole line. Instantly, the loose 
cattle darted off in all directions, to the right and left of 
the road, scampering among the bushes, with their tails in 
the air. The teams followed them, jolting and bouncing 
the wagons over the hillocks and rough ground, and shak- 
ing out the women and children, who fell out screaming 
and terrified. All along the line was confusion and dis- 
may. The men yelled at their cattle, but in vain. The 
animals ran like mad buffaloes, and careered through the 
sage-brush pursued by their drivers, who could neither stop 
nor turn them. 

The ground was speedily strewn with camp-stuff, loose 
garments, and mining traps.” Here and there, a wagon 
was overturned, and the frantic oxen dragged it a little 
way and then stopped in sullen despair. Tige and Molly 
joined in the general stampede, and Arthur and Hi breatlr- 
lessly pursued, Barnard having tumbled out of the rear 
end of the wagon, where he had been taking a nap. As 
Arty caught up with the team, and lun around their heada 
to turn them back, he suddenly saw a dusky figure rise up 
from behind a wild-sage bush, within a few feet of him 



THE STAMPEDE 














2:’- V ■ ? 







' i •<v'‘ ‘V’ ‘ • IfVVH 

>■' . -rf^vi 


f ■ ^ >-<->> ■ -- jt . .4. 5 

^ .^4tS\ ih^, ! V ^tl* I * ■^'•' -I ' * "^ '. ^ * K^'* T ^*^ .-*','■ ^ J*-* 













>»l I 


• l.‘T ^ 






i« 




feil' ••* ri;^^ 

Piv.|BiiPfev>v#ft^'V‘/'!Vi^ '0m3i’'V)- ^'■2:'if^Syfc?‘f,.S-^ 


■cr .J .^v. 


¥ia* 


U* 


<4 


■ , r ’ i'i' ; -• > ^ v- *- ■ -• ■ -^3 ff :d 


U\ 






M 










IN MORMONDOM, 155 

He felt his hair raising on his head, and he instinctively 
readied behind him for his revolver. It was ^one 1 

Just then the figure Btiitnbled and fell, rose again, and 
said : 

I just allow this yere is the ornerest, toughest piece o\ 
ground 1 ever traveled.” 

It was Messer, whose team had disappeared in the 
struggling mass which had now gathered at the foot of a 
rise of ground. Arty breathed freer, and, with Mont’s 
help, he and Hi quieted their oxen, stopped them, and 
began to look about. 

The long procession, which had been moving along so 
quietly and steadily a few minutes before, was now 
broken and scattered in all directions. Some of the loose 
cattle had disappeared in the darkness, and not a few 
wagons lay overturned and half-wrecked among the 
bushes. People went wandering around seeking for their 
comrades or gathering up their goods and animals. But 
the jianic was over. 

“ It was only a stampede, after all, Arty,” said Hi^ 
cheerily. 

“ Well, if that’s a stampede, I allow I don’t want any 
more of ’em,” said Tom, with his teeth still chattering. 
“ I own up that I was orful scared. Wha’ — wha’s that ^ ” 
he exclaimed, starting back as he spoke. 

Nothin’, nothin’ ; ye’re scart of yer own shadder,” 
replied Hi, who looked in the direction of Tom’s fcars^ 
but with a little shake in his voice. 

It was only Johnny, who was hunting about in the 
Drush for Arty’s pistol. 

“ Come out of that thar brush, you young one,” remon 
strated Hi, with some asperity, as he began to straighten 
out the team before driving back to the road. “ ’Spos’n’ 


156 


THE BOY EM10BANT& 


yer’d be ketclied by the GosLoots, who’d liev yer share of 
tlie outfit, I’d like to know ? Haw there, you Tige ! ” 

“ D’yer ’spose there’s Injuns about, Hi ? ” said Tom. 

Couldn’t say — couldn’t say, Tom. Mont here allowa 
that Injuns hev a way of stampedin’ a train like that 
and then firing into the crowd and pickin’ off the heft 
of ’em.” 

“ Yes,” exclaimed Mont, “ they say that the Indiana 
would sometimes scare cattle and make them stampede in 
that way, and then fall on the disordered ti*ain and de- 
stroy tlic people and capture tlie property. But we have 
seen no Indians. They had a chance to attack us just 
now, if they wanted to.” 

“Well, then, why did the cattle all run like that?” 
demanded Arthur. “ They must have been scared by 
something.” 

“ I just allow it was shadders. Tbe cattle were skittish 
and scary-like,” said Hi. “ And I must say I was sortei 
panicky myself, before the stampede began. Shadders 
creeping alongside of the road, shadders stealing along 
behind in the moonlight. Ouch ! what’s that ?” 

Everybody started, and then everybody laughed. It 
was Pete who came bounding in from the sage-brush with 
Harney’s cap, which he had picked up somewhere. Bar- 
ney had not missed his cap — he had been so taken by 
surprise when he was shaken out of the wagon. Arty 
picked up his pistol near where the stampede began, and, 
after l ecovering the other things scattered along the path 
of their erratic flight, they went back to the road. Many 
bands make light work ; the overturned wagons were 
righted, the cattle were gathered in, and the train moved 
on once more. As usual, however, the panic-stricken 
oxen did not easily recover their calmness. Once again 


IN MOEMONDOM, 


167 


in the coui-se of the night, terrified by the weird BhadowSy 
perhaps, they bolted from the track ; but they were soon 
brought back, and they plodded on until daybreak. 

In a short time after this great scare, the young emi 
grants passed into Echo Canon, then a famous resting- 
place for the gold-seekers. High walls of red, yellow, 
s^nd cream-colored rock rose on either side. These walla 
were topped out with pinnacles, towers, and steeples. 
It was like a fairy scene. Below were charming groves, 
overshadowing a winding stream. Above were fantastic 
rocky shapes, reseml)ling castles, donjon-keeps, cathedral 
spires, battlements, and massive walls. Trailing vines 
grew in the high crevices of the precipices and swung in 
the breeze. The canon was rich with grass and wild 
berries, and here the boys camped for several days, trying 
curious experiments in cooking the fruit which grew so 
abundantly about them. Sass,” as Hi called it, was the 
easiest to manage. They made a few pies, too ; but the 
pastry was made with bacon-fat and lard, and Barnard 
turned up his nose at it, with the remark that “ it was 
hog-meat in another shape.” 

They attempted a berry pudding, and Hance lent them 
a cloth to boil it in. Arty would not permit the cover of 
the camp kettle to be taken off, as that would make the 
pudding heavy.” Nance had said so. When the hungry 
company gathered about the kettle, at dinner-time, to see 
that famous pudding taken out, Arthur poked around in 
a thin purple broth with his stick, only to fish out an un- 
pleasant-looking and limp cloth. The bag had been tied 
too tight. The pudding had burst, and was now a por- 
ridge of flour, water, and “ sarvice-berries.” 

1 allow the proof of that pudd’n’ ain’t in the eatin’ of 
it,” solemnly remarked Hi. 


158 


THE EOT EMIO RANTS. 


But Nance consoled Arty by informing him that thii 
was an accident which happened to the very smartest 
folks, sometimes. 

‘‘ It ain’t nigh so bad as scaldin’ yer bread, Ai-ty,” said 
the girl, with a slight laugh. 

When they reached the mouth of Emigrant Canon, a 
few days later, one fine August morning, they gazed with 
admiration upon the city in the wilderness — Great Salt 
Lake City. The canon opened to the west, high up among 
the mountains. Below the boys stretched the broad valley 
north and south. Above their heads rose snowy peaks ; 
beneath was a vast plain, belted with winding streams, 
and green and gold with grass, orchards, and grain- 
fields. In the midst of this lovely panorama shone the 
City of the Saints. It was like a fairy city. It seemed 
like a dream. Nearly three months had passed since 
they had seen a town, and here was a great, well-built and 
beautiful city. The houses were neutral-tinted or white- 
washed, the roofs were red, and innumerable trees em- 
bowered the whole. The plain, in the midst of which the 
city was set like a jewel, rolled far to the westward, where 
it was bounded by the shining waters of Great Salt Lake. 
Beyond this towered a range of purple mountains, their 
sharp peaks laced with silvery snow. 

‘‘ This is a view from the Delectable Mountains I ” 
murmured Mont, as he sat down. 

Putty as a picter,” said honest Hi, leaning on hig 
whip-stock, and gazing at the wonderful panorama. “ But 
it reminds me of the hymn — 

“ ‘ Where every prospect pleases, 

And only man is vile.* 

They d^ say them Mormons will steal like all posses t.” 


IN MOHMONDOM. 


159 


It was a difficult and a zig-zag road down the mountain- 
Bide. Many a wrecked emigrant-wagon lay by the side of 
the descent, now continually crowded with the trains of 
the gold-seekers. At one place, looking over a low natu- 
ral parapet, they saw a wagon and four oxen, lying in a 
heap of ruins, just where they had fallen from the dizzy 
height above. So, with much trembling and anxiety, tliey 
crept down by rocky slopes, beetling, precipices, and 
foamy mountain-torrents, and reached the grassy plain at 
last. Here was comfort — an easy road, plenty of feed 
and water for the cattle, and fruit and vegetables growing in 
the neat farms by which they passed. It was like paradise. 

Driving into the city, which was only a huge village, 
with orchards and grain-fields all about, they were directed 
to an open square where emigrants were allowed to camp. 
Fresh meat, vegetables, and new flour were to be had here, 
and in these unaccustomed luxuries the boys reveled with 
great delight. It seemed as if they were near their 
journey’s end. The mishaps, discomforts, and perils 
through which they had passed, seemed far away now. 
Here were flower gardens, people living in houses, and 
here were families abiding, not camping out for a night. 
The tent of the emigrants, which had become their home, 
almost beloved as such, appeared frail and shadowy by 
the side of these substantial and comfortable houses, in 
which people actually lived. 

“ We must get up and dust out of this. I’m homesick,” 
was Hi’s plaintive remark. 

“ Lori ” said Nance, whose family was on the spot when 
they drove into town. Lor ! the wimmen is orf ul ornery 
So old-fashioned, you can’t think 1 Nothin’ but sun-bun- 
nits and caliker gownds. I ain’t seen a sunshade since P' « 
bin here. Ugh 1 such a place, I want to git.” 


160 


THE HOT EMIGRANTS, 


The boys thought that they never could git,” v; heii 
they woke up one fine morning, and found their cattle 
gone. They had been chained to tlie wheels of the wagon 
when they “ turned in ” to sleep the night before. Mont 
had waked in the night and heard Bally, who was a rest- 
less creature, chafing with his chain. Now they were 
gone ! 

They looked in blank amazement, wondering how the 
thieves could have taken them away without disturbing 
anybody. It was useless to look for tracks. The turf was 
trodden by numerous hoofs, coming and going. 

Wliere’s that rascal Pete that he didn’t bark? If there 
had been a chipmunk about the camp, he’d have wakened 
up everybody,” stormed Barnard, with gi-eat anger. 

“ Sure enough, where’s Pete ? ” asked Arthur. He was 
not to be seen. The boy whistled for his old friend, but 
had no response. Pete had disappeared. 

This was a great calamity, and, leaving the younger 
ones to get breakfast and watch the camp, Mont, Hi, and 
Barnard went out to look for the stolen cattle. They 
came back, late in the morning, one after another, without 
tidings. Everybody had told them that the Mormons 
would steal the tires off the wagon-wheels ; that it was 
more dangerous here than in the Indian country ; and then, 
there were dreadful rumors of emigrants — “ Gentiles,” the 
Mormons called them — disappearing suddenly and never 
being heard of again. If strangei-s made trouble about 
being robbed, they were quietly put out of tlie way,” 
nobody knew how. 

Tlie boys looked at the useless yokes, left piled on each 
other by the wagon, thought of their stolen cattle, and sat 
down to a very gloomy breakfast. Sympathizing friendi 
and acquaintances from neighboring camps came in witk 


IN MORMONDOM. 


161 


ofiFers of help, but they could not give up all hope ol 
liiidiug their own again. Arty confessed to himself that 
he rather enjoyed the celebi’ity which the affair gave hia 
party, though he was not pleased when some rough 
stranger laughed at “ tiie youngsters who had their cattle 
stolen from under their blankets while they slept.” And 
next day, after they had spent one whole day in hunting 
for their stock, they heard that another party, on the west 
side of the city, had been robbed of a horse and tln-ee 
yoke of cattle. 

llont went to a Mormon justice of the peace and stated 
his case. He was received with great grimness, and a 
constable was sent down to the camp. This official looked 
at the wagon, tent, and camp-stove, asked if they had 
any tea to sell, and went away. They never saw him 
again. 

On the third day, Mont, Hi, and Arthur were prowling 
about on the outskirts of the city, where the settlement 
melted away into small farms. The boy had strayed away 
from his companions, and was attracted by a neat little 
cottage built of adobe, or sun-dried brick. The roof waa 
of thatch, and in the trim door-yard bloomed marigolds, 
hollyhocks, larkspur, and other old-fashioned flowers. A 
cat purred in the sun, and a flock of white-haired children 
played on the Ioav door-step. 

“ This seems like home,” murmured the poor, dispirited 
and lonesome boy. 

A sad looking, sallow- faced woman, coming to the door 
said : ‘‘ Would you like to come in among the posies, my 
lad ? ” 

“No, I thank you, ma’am,” civilly replied Aithiir, 
“ Hut I should like a sprig of that lavender, if you can 
spare it.” 


162 


THE BOY EMIQBABTS, 


As the lx)y spoke, a short, sharp ba,rk, strangely Hk« 
Pete’s, sounded from the house. lie heard a man’s voice, 
then a whine, and, as the woman gave him the spray of 
lavender, a low-browed, dark-faced man put his head out 
of tlie window, and said : 

What are you tolling these tramps about the place fori 
Get out of here ! ” 

Two more sad-looking and sallow-faced women now ap- 
peared in the door-way, and Arthur walked away, half- 
angry, but murmuring to himself : 

“ That man’s a Mormon I Those are his wives 1 ” 

This discovery aroused the boy from his gloomy 
thoughts, and his curiosity was stirred to find out how a 
man with at least three wives could live. Loitering down 
a lane by the side of the cottage, he passed by a neat 
hedge which enclosed a paddock behind the house. He 
stooped in an aimless way and peered through an opening 
in the bottom of the hedge. The enclosure was about 
fifty feet long and twenty-five wide. The upper end was 
bounded by a paling which separated the Mormon’s gar- 
den from the paddock. The lower end opened, by a pair 
of bars, covered with cut boughs, on a common unenclosed 
space. In the middle of this cattle-yard, quietly chewing 
their cuds, were eight or ten cattle. Among them, to his ^ 
amazement, Arthur recognized Tige, Molly, Star, and his 
mate. 

Scarcely believing his eyes, Arty looked once more, and 
then bounded away across the fields and over the ditches, 
to find Hi and Mont. They were sitting disconsolately by 
some wild raspberry bushes, making a poor pretence of 
picking the fruit, when Arty rushed up, his eyes spai*kling, 
his face all in a glow, and his breath coming and going 
fast. 


IN MORMONDOM 

“ What liitik?” exclaimed Mont, whose quick eje saw 
that something had happened. 

“ Found ’em ! — found ’em ! ” panted the bey. ‘‘ The whole 
lot are together in that corral with the hedge around itt” 

‘‘ Gosh all Friday I ” said Hi. 

The three boys now walked rapidly back in the dii-ec- 
tion of the adobe house, which was about a mile off, but 
in plain sight. Arriving at the opening in the rear of the 
paddock, they reconnoitered through the brush which had 
been ingeniously twisted into the bars, so that the hedge, 
from the outside, seemed continuous. 

‘‘ There’s Tige, and Molly, and all hands,” whispered 
Hi, with glistening eyes. 

‘‘ We’ve two pistols among us. Let’s march boldly in 
and drive them out,” said Mont. 

Without a word, Hi tore out the screen of boughs, let 
down the bars, and strode in. Just then, the back-door of 
the house opened and the dark-faced man appeared. 

‘‘ Get out of that corral, or I’ll shoot you 1 ” he cried, 
and he raised a fowling-piece to his shoulder as he 
spoke. 

“ Don’t be afeard, boys ; it ain’t loaded ! ” called one of 
the sad-looking women, who suddenly came around the 
corner of the house. The man muttered an oath, and pur- 
sued her as she disappeared among the hollyhocks. 

The boys hastily separated their cattle from the rest^ 
and drove them down the paddock. Just then, the man, 
who had run around the hedge, appeared at the opening 
and began to put up the bars. 

“ Leave those cattle alone,” said he, savagely. 

“They’re our cattle, and we are goin’ to take ’em,” wa« 
Hi’s dogged reply. 

The man went on putting up the bars. Then Mont 


164 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS, 


drew Ilia pistol, and, pointing it directly at the fellow’i 
head, said : 

“ Put down those bars, or I’ll shoot you 1 Now then ; 
One ! — two ! — three ! ” 

The man turned and fled. 

Arty ran down, dropped the bars, and the cattle passed 
out. The opening was closed behind them, and the little 
party, triumphant, but not without fears, took their way 
back to town. They were received at the camp with great 
acjclamations, Barnard having returned in the worst possi- 
ble spirits. The neighboring emigrants gatliered in to 
congratulate them on their good luck, as well as their pluck. 

“ But suppose that chap takes it into his head to come 
down on us with legal documents, constables and things ! ” 
said Barnard. 

Captain John Rose took up his favorite rifle, which was 
lying in the sun, and remarked : 

“ If thar’s Mormons enough in this yere city to capture 
the gang of Gentiles lyin’ around loose in this yere square, 
let ’em come on. No better fun than that fur me ! ” 

As a matter of precaution, however, it was thought best 
to get out of town as soon as possible. The few necessary 
purchases had been made. Letters were written home ; 
and, yoking up their recovered team, they hastily departed 
out of the city. 

The affair had been noised about, and several Mormons 
came around them as they drove away, threatening dread- 
ful things. The dark-faced man did not ap])car. ‘‘If ho 
wants his property, let him come and take it,” said Hi. 
Strange to say, he did not come. The emigrants were 
numerous, lawless, and angry. 

The boys drove out to the nortJi and west, their road 
lca(lhig them by a cluster of boiling hot-springs, across the 


IN MORMONDOM, 


16 ft 


W'eber, and so on to Box Elder. The first part of theii 
way was through broad fields thick with grass and yellow 
with wild fiowers. Across these they saw the City of the 
Saints, now no longer attractive, recede as they drove 
away. Something came bounding towards them across the 
grassy plain, now lost in the tall growth, and now spring- 
ing into the streams which laced the plain. It seemed an 
animal, and yet it appeared like a man running on all 
fours with marvellous swiftness. It came from the direc- 
tion of an adobe house on the edge of the city, in the 
midst of tlie fields. As it leaped nearer and nearer, it 
gave a joyful bark. 

“ It’s Pete ! it’s Pete ! ” cried Arthur, and his tears must 
needs flow. In another instant, Pete, with a ragged rope 
about his neck, was in Arty’s arms, on Hi’s back, on Bar- 
nard’s neck, and knocking little Johnny over in his par- 
oxysm of delight. 

“ AVTiar hev yer b’en, ole feller ? ” asked Hi. “ What a 
powerful shame it is that yer can’t talk ! ” 

“ 1 just believe that the man who stole the cattle took 
Pete away,” said Arthur. “ I was sure I heard him in 
that house. He heard me outside talking with the woman, 
and he barked.” 

“ But how could he get Pete away without poisoning 
him ?” demanded Mont. 

‘‘Drugged him,” suggested Hi. 

“ There’s that knowing old Tige,” said Arthur, play- 
fcLlly. “ He looks around as if he could tell all about it.” 

But he never did. 


THE BO y EMlUliANr& 


IM 


CHAPTER XV. 

A GREAT DISASTER. 

After leaving Salt Lake Valley, the young emigrantl 
pawsed into a wild, desolate, and barren region. Imme- 
diately outside of the Mormon settlements, they found a 
most miserable country. The surface of the earth was 
red and dusty — “ red hot,” Hi said. No grass grew ex- 
cept in small dry bunches, and the pools of water were 
thick and brown with alkali, or they were boiling hot 
with hidden tires. Some of them rushed out of their 
fountains with a hurrying and hissing noise that reminded 
the boys of a steamboat. Others were bluish pools of 
water, with clean and pebbly bottoms, and just warm 
enough to be comfortable for a bath. Into these the 
weary and dusty travelers plunged themselves with great 
‘content. The waters seemed to be healing, they were so 
soft and pleasant to joints stiffened by long marches, and 
to skins made rough and sore by many days of travel on 
alkali plains. The air was still loaded with the alkali 
dust, like fine saleratus, which fioated every wheie. But 
the natural hot-baths, steel blue in their depths and gur- 
gling over stones covered with some kind of white mineral 
deposit, were luxurious beyond anything they had cvei 
di earned of. 

Some of these hot springs were so near the cold ones, 
that the boys tried experiments of dipping their hands 


A GREAT DISASTER. 


167 


into a pool of cold water w’hile their feet dabbled in warm 
water, as they lay along the ground. Once they came to 
a huge round pool, nearly fifty feet across, black, still, and 
with neither outlet nor inlet. Yet it was not stagnant ; a 
slight current showed that there was some sort of movo- 
ment going on beneath the surface. 

“ i allow this yer pool runs down inter tho bowels of the 
j earth,” said Philo Dobbs, pensively, as ho stood on the 
brink and gazed into the mysterious depths. 

“Well, ain’t the bowels of the earth deep enough to 
take down this hull pool at one s waller, if so be as it 
runs down so fur ? ” asked Bush, with some impatience. 
“ Stands to reason it would be all drawed off to oiicet, if 
the bottom was clean dropped out.” 

“ Anyway, there is no bottom,” said Arty. “ Lots of 
people have sounded it and found none.” 

But Philo Dobbs was firm in his opinion that the poo 
'ed dire(*,tly into the centre of the earth ; and Nance, as a 
dutiful daughter, informed the boys that what her father 
did not know about such things was not worth knowing. 

They passed out from this region of wonders and tra^ 
vei'sed an exceedingly dull and uninteresting tract of 
country, lying between Salt Lake Valley and the head 
waters of the Humboldt Kiver. 

About three weeks’ march from the Mormon capital, 
late in August, they reached the Goose Creek Mountains, 
Here good pasturage was found by selecting spots along 
the creek, and here, too, the road became more easy for 
the cattle, many of which were weak and sick with th'' 
effects of alkali. Passing down through Thousand Spring 
Valley, the emigiants camped at the head of a rocky 
canon, one night, tWv^ or three companies being together 
The ground was dotted with scrubby knots of wild liage^ 


168 


TEE EOF EMIOEAETS. 


grease- weed, and cactus. The soil was red, gray, and 
pebbly ; but a small stream slipped through a gulley neai 
by, and along its banks grew a scanty crop of grass, well 
browsed off by the innumerable cattle which had passed 
on the way to California. 

“ This is awful lonesome,” sighed Arty, as he wearily 
went through the usual and monotonous task of getting 
8up])er. 

“ Doesn’t pay, does it, Arty ? ” said his brotlier, curiously 
watching the boy, with half-closed eyes, as lie turned hia 
sizzling bacon in the frying-pan, and kept his fire going 
with handfuls of dry weeds, their only fuel. 

“ No, Crogan, it does not pay. I’m getting clean beat 
out. And there’s poor old Pete, licking his paws again. 
1 can’t keep shoes on that dog’s feet, and he has worn the 
skin off of them so that he can hardly walk, lleigho! I 
w^ondcr what mother would say to this mess ? ” — and Arty, 
wdth great disgust, stirred in the fiour which was to thicken 
the bacon-fat and make “ dope ” to eat with bread, instead 
of butter. 

The thought of what his mother might say brought tears 
to the boy’s eyes. This was Saturday night. Away off in 
the groves of the valley of the Rock his mother was draw- 
ing the New England brown bread and beans from the 
brick oven. His father, perhaps, was sitting hy the fading 
light in the door- way, looking westward and thinking of 
lx is wandering boys. His brothers were out at the well- 
curo, dipping their heads into the water-trough with much 
lough play, and making ready for their welcome Sunday 
rest. 

Here was a wilderness, a desert, scanty fare, and with 
the Land of Gold still a long way off. 

‘‘ Hullo ! there’s a drop of salt water running down yc uy 


A GREAT DISASTER 169 

nose, A rty,” cried Tom, “ and if it drops into that dope, 
you’ll — ” 

But Tom never finished nis sentence, for at that moment 
Mont, with righteous indignation, knocked him ofE the roD 
of blankets on which he had been sitting. 

Yer might let a feller know when you was a-comin’ 
for him,” said Tom, wrathfully, as he scrambled out of 
the way. 

“ Sarved yer right, yer grinnin’ chessie-cat,” said Hi. 
“ Yer’ll never keep yer mouth shut. Now hustle that thar 
coffee-pot onto the table, and we’ll sit by.” 

“ Tom, I beg yer pardon,” spoke up Mont Morse. “ I 
really didn’t intend to knock you over, only just to give 
you a gentle poke by way of reminder.” 

Tom sullenly ate his supper, without any comment on 
his brother’s remark that he was an ‘‘ ornery blatherskite, 
anyway.” 

Somehow, the evening was more gloomy and cheerless 
than usual ; and, as it was now necessary to keep a sharp 
watch for thieves who were prowling about the trail, those 
who were to go out on the second watch went early to their 
blankets. The rest took their several stations about the 
edge of the camp. 

It was a little past midnight when the sleeping boys 
were awakened by a shot, and the voice of John Bose 
crying, “ Stop that man ! ” 

Barnard broke out of the tent with a wild rush, cocking 
Ills pistol as he ran through the low brush in which the camp 
was set. In the cloudy night he saw a light sorrel horse 
running close by the side of Old Jim, and coining towards 
him. As the horses passed swiftly across his vision, he 
saw a man rise and fall, and rise and fall aga ii in the 
aage-brush — rise and fall and disappear in the darkness. 


170 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


Pui suing him was John Eose, his tall figure and bright 
red shirt showing him conspicuously in the gloom, 
Barney ran on, but the fugitive was gone, and Hose came 
back, excitedly saying : 

‘‘ Dog on that chap 1 I just believe I winged him. Did 
you see him limp ? ” 

Barney was not sure that he limped, but was burning tc 
know what it was all about. 

“ I was sittin’ behind that thar rock,” said Rose, a- won- 
dering about them stars just peekin’ out of the clouds, 
when I heern a cracklin’ in the bush and if thar wa’n’t a 
yaller boss — a strange boss — sidlin’ up, queer-like, as if 
somebody was leadin’ him. I seen no man, no lariat onto 
the boss, when he gets up alongside of Old Jim. Then 
he stops short, and then 1 seen a man’s legs on the off-side, 
and just in range of the sorrel’s. I slid down from behind 
the rock and crep’ along on the ground like, holding my 
rifle steady, when, all at once, the chap jumps up on the 
lorrel and away he kited pullin’ Old Jim after him.” 

“ Yes ! yes ! and you fired then ? ” 

“ Fired ! Well, 1 just allow I did, and you should have 
seen that chap drop. But he got away, and we have got 
his boss — that’s all.” 

Sure enough, the sorrel horse was found to have a lariat, 
or halter, of twisted raw-hide about his neck, one end of 
which had been knotted into Jim’s halter. There wag 
great excitement in the camp as the emigrants woke and 
came out to see ^^what was up.” Here was the evidence 
of hoi se thieves being about, and the men expressed them 
selves as being in favor of hanging the rascal — if he could 
be caught. 

“ Ouch I ” cried Barney suddenly, sitting down. ‘‘ Bring 
a light, Jolinny.” 


A QREAl DISASTER. 171 

Barney’s bare feet were filled with the prickly spines oi 
tlie ground cactus. 

“ Strange I never felt them until just now, and I must 
Iiave clipped it through that whole bed of cactus plants.” 

But he felt them now, and, what was more, he was lame, 
for a week afterwards. 

Next morning, on examining the ground, the boys dis 
covered the tracks of the strange horse, where, coming up 
to tlie regular trail from the north, they crossed a damp 
])atch of alkali earth, breaking in the crust which forms 
on top when tlie heat of the sun evaporates the alkali 
water. Nearer the camps, the tracks were lost in the con- 
fused beating of the feet of many passing animals. But 
in the sage-brush, where Captain Bose had fired at the 
horse-thief, the foot-prints were plainly seen. 

In the loose sandy soil beyond were the tracks of a man, 
left in the dry surface ; and on the twigs of a low grease- 
wood bush they saw a few drops of blood. 

“ Yes, yes, he was wounded. I was sure of that,” cried 
Bose. 

“ And here is where he limped,” said Hi, dropping on 
his knees and examining the foot-prints in the light gray 
soil. “ Come yere, Mont, and tell us what you think of 
these yere. See ! thar’s a print set sqnar’ down ; then 
here’s one that’s onlj" light-like, just half made.” 

Mont got down on his knees and followed the tracks 
along. The man had fled in great haste. Sometimes he 
had gone over the bushes, sometimes he had lightod in the 
midst of one. But, here and there, was a print, sometimes 
of the right foot, sometimes of the left; but one was 
always lightly made — “ half-made,” as Hi said. 

‘‘That man limped, sure enough,” said Mont, finally 

But I guess ho didn’t limp from a wound, though hs 


172 


TRB BOr EMIGRANTS. 


may have been wounded. I should say that he had a 
^aine le^.’’ 

^ A game leg ! ” repeated Johnny and Arty together. 



BILL BUNGE. 


“ I allow you’re right, Monty, my boy,” said Hi, wlia 
bad been stooping again over the mysterious foot-printa 
That thar man had a game leg, for sure.” 


A ORE AT DISASTER, 173 

“ Which leg was Bill Bunce lame of, Johnny ? ” do- 
maiided Barnard. 

“ The left leg,” replied the lad. 

Arty looked up triumphantly from the ground and ex- 
claimed : 

So was this man that tried to steal Old Jim.” 

“ It was Bill Bunce I It was Bill Bunco 1 Pm sure it 
was,” cried little Johnny, in great excitement. 

He looked at the foot-prints of the fugitive horse-thief, 
and fairly trembled with apprehension ; he could not have 
told why. 

“ O ! sho 1 ” said Hi. “ You mustn’t think that every 
game-legged man you meet on the plains is Bill Bunce. 
Why, thar was that feller that picked up Barney’s boots 
when they fell out of the wagon, down at Pilot Springs. 
He wa’n’t no Bill Bunce, and he was the game-leggedest 
man I ever seen.” 

If he had not been too game-legged to wear those 
boots, I am not so sure that Grogan would have seen them 
again,” laughed Mont. 

“Well, boys, thar’s nothin’ more to be Tamed of them 
foot-prints,” said Hi. “We may as well get breakfast and 
be off.” 

“ But this is Sunday,” said Barnard. 

“Yes,” replied Hi, “Sunday and no feed, and nu 
water. Camp here all day and starve the critters ? Hot 
much.” 

“ But we have never traveled Sundays,” remonstrated 
!Jont 

“ Oh yes, we did, Mont,” interposed Arty. “ ( )nco before, 
at Stony Point, you know we had to when there was iio 
grass ; and we traveled from the Salt Lick to Deep Creek 
on Sunday, because we had no water.” 


174 


THE BOY EMIORAJNTti, 


“Which is the Christianest, Mont, — to let the cattle gc 
without feed, or travel Sunday ? ” asked Hi. 

“ I don’t know. I give up that conundrum.” 

“ So do I,” said Hi, with a grin. 

They went on, however. Leaving Thousand Spring 
Valley, and crossing several rocky ridges, they descended 
and entered a long, narrow canon, through which flowed 
a considerable stream. 

Precipitous walls of rock rose up on either side, leaving 
barely room for the narrow wagon-trail and the creek. 
The trail crossed and recrossed the stream many times, 
and the fording-places were not all safe or convenient. 
But the day was bright and pleasant, and high, high above 
their heads, above the beetling crags, the blue sky looked 
cool and tender. 

A long train passed down the canon, the procession 
being strung out with numerous companies of emigrants. 
They had got half-way through the passage, which was 
several miles long, when, late in the afternoon, the sky 
grew overcast, and thick clouds gathered suddenly in the 
west. 

“ An awkward place to get caught in a shower,” mut- 
tered Captain Wise. “ Thar’s poor crossing at the best of 
times, and if this yere creek should rise, we ’d be cut off 
in the midst of the cafion.” 

“ But there is no danger of that, John, is there ? ” said 
Mont, who was striding along with the Captain. 

“ Couldn’t say, Mont. These yere creeks do swell up 
dreflie sudd’n, sometimes.” And he anxiously regar led 
the sky, from which a heavy shower now oegan to fall. 

The boys lightly laughed at the discomfort. They were 
used to it, and, wrapping their heavy coats about theij 
shoulders, they plodded on in the pouring rain. 


A OBJffAT DISASTJE^R 


175 


It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and tae showeT 
increased with such force that Hi, who was behind with 
the team, shouted to Captain Wise: 

“Say, hadn’t we better lay by? Yere’s a place whar 
we can turn in and let the others pass us.” 

“ The cattle’s necks are gettin’ chafed with their yokes,” 
cried Tom, who particularly disliked getting wet. 

“ We must drive on until we’re out of this yere canon,” 
was the Captain’s only reply. 

And they pressed on in the midst of a tempest of rain. 
The sky overhead was only a narrow patch between the 
frowning walls of the canon. It was as black as ink. 

They had now reached a sharp bend in the canon ; a 
huge elbow in the rocky precipice at the left of the track 
came down and made a deep recess just beyond it, where 
the trail turned in to the left. On their right was the 
creek, now foaming along in its stony bed, and on the 
opposite side was a sheer wall of rock rising into the low- 
hung clouds. 

As they struggled around the corner of the rock and 
entered a little elevated place, where the canon widened, 
the tall angle behind them shut out the trail down which 
they had just passed. Arthur, hearing a strange whirring 
noise in the air, looked back and up the cafion. He saw 
an inky black mass, tremendous and tumbling over and 
over, drift helplessly over the wall of the canon, like a 
huge balloon. It struck the opposite wall, and in an 
instant the solid ro'.k seemed to burst in cataracts of 
water. 

Suddenly, the air was filled with a portentous roar 
The rain no longer fell in sheets, but in solid masses. The 
creek, black except where it was lashed into foam, ro‘'e 
like a mightj river and tore down the canon, hoar8et\ 


176 


THE BOY EMIQ RANTS. 


howling on its waj. The sides of tlie nar^^>w pass seemed 
to mclL iiitc dropping streams of water. The trail dis 
appeared, and along the foaming tide rushed wagons, 
liorses, oxen, men, and the floating wrecks of trains which 
had been farther up the cafion. 

The angry flood, checked by the sharp angle of rock 
around wiiich the boys had just passed, roared in a solid 
wall over that part of the trail, then spread out and curled 
hissing, up to the little eminence on which the party, with 
scared faces, stood as if spell-bound. The loose cattle of 
the Kose drove were in the rear. They were swept off 
like insects. Then the flood, as if holding on by its claws 
at the rocky angle behind, backed up and backed up, un- 
til, witli one mighty effort, it swept the wagon- bodies off 
their beds, overturned the cattle in their yokes, and tiieii 
filunk off down the canon, and slowly fell away. 

Captain Hose, climbing a wrecked Avagon, in the midst 
of the still falling rain, looked about anxiously, gave a 
great sob, and said : 

‘‘ I’m a ruined man ; but, thank God, we’re all here ! ” 

The angry current yet fled down the canon, making the 
trail impassable. But the worst was over. They were 
all al’ve. Even Pete, to w^hom Arty had clung in the 
extremity of his terror, was safe and sound. All were 
drenched, and it was only by clinging to the half -floating 
wagons that they had been saved from drowning. But the 
yoke cattle were here. So was poor old J im, and a few 
of Rose’s loose cattle, as well as his horses. 

“What was that?” asked Tom, his teeth chattering 
with fear and cold. 

“ A cloud-burst,” said Mont, solemnly. “And it will 
be a wonderful thing if hundreds of pec pie in tliis canon 
are not drowned by it.” 


A GREAT DISASTER, 


1T7 


More than an hour passed before the creek had fallen 
enough to permit the emigrants to pass down the trail. 
lh!t the canon was free of the flood in an astonishingly 
slu rt time. Before dark, the little party, gathering up 
their wet goods and straightening out their teams, ven- 
to red down the trail. 

The aldei-s were crowded with fragments of wreck. 
Wagon- covers, clothing, and bits of small household stuff, 
were iianging from rocks and brush. The trail was washed 
out by the flood, and along it were strewn the bodies of 
drowned animals. For the most part, however, the wrecks 
liad been swept clean out of the canon, and were now 
lying on the sandy plain beyond. 

JS'obody ever knew how many lives were lost in that 
memorable cloud-burst. They were many. The boy emi- 
grants passed out and camped on the fast-drying plain at 
the mouth of the caiion, where they found Philo Dobbs, 
his wife, and Nance. They, with Messer, had laid by 
outside before the storm came up, having been one day’s 
travel ahead of our boys. 

Pose had lost sixty head of cattle, a few of those first 
missing having been picked up afterwards. 

‘‘ Where’s yer yaller boss ? ” asked Hi of Barney. 

The sorrel horse was gone. 

Light come, light go,” said Hi, sententioiisly. 

8 * 


178 


THE BOY EMIQ HANTS. 


CHAPTEK XVL 

IN THE DESERT. 

It was early in September when the young enigranta 
reached the head -waters of the Humboldt. Here the 
road led by the side of the stream, which flowed througli 
a narrow valley. Outside of this valley the country was 
a tumultuous mass of rocks, mountains, and sand. No 
tree nor shrub relieved the prospect anywhere. It was an 
utterly desolate and trackless desert. Close by the stream, 
whose bluish- white waters were shaded by willows, there 
was a plenty of grass, and the water was at least fit to 
drink. So the party journeyed on blithely, forgetful of 
the dangers behind, and careless of the privations before 
or behind them. 

(>)ccasionally the road left the river and crossed over a 
rough ridge of hills, for ten or twelve miles, and then, 
having made a straight line across a curve of the stream, 
struck it again farther down. But, after about two weeks 
of travel, with some days of rest, orders went out to cut 
grass for the long stretch of desert which was now to l»e 
traversed. Knives of all sorts were brought out and 
sharpened, and the emigrants spent one aftei-noon in cut- 
ting and binding up the lush, coarse grass which gi*ew 
plentifully in the meadows. Not far from this point the 
Humboldt spreads out in a boggy lake, overgrown with 
reeds and bulrushes, and is lost in the desert. About the 


IN THE DESERT. 


179 


edfices of this strange swamp the whole surface of the 
earth is dry and parched. The spreading river seema 
discouraged by the barren waste before it, and it sinks 
away in the sands and is gone. 

“ This everlasting sage-brush I ’’ murmured Arty, as the 
party left the verdure of the Humboldt meadows and 
struck once more into the arid plain, where the only vege- 
tation was the yellow-brown sage-brush or the whity- 
yellow grease- weed. “ This everlasting sage-brush 1 How 
sick I am of it.” 

‘‘ Oh, well, don’t speak ill of the sage-brush, Arty,” said 
Mont, pleasantly. Besides, it is called artemisia, which 
is a much nicer name ; and if it was not for the artemisia, 
otherwise sage-brush, I don’t know what you would do for 
fuel.” 

‘‘That’s so, Mont,” added Hi. “And though I don’t 
know much about your arty-what-d’ye-call-it, I allow it’s 
put here for some good end. See, that thar sage-stalk is 
nigh as thick as my leg, and good fire-wood it is. Howso- 
ever it gets to grow in this sand gets me, I must say. Still 
I shall be glad when we are shut of it. Hit’s a sure sign 
of desert wherever it grows. 

It was an abominable country. The face of the earth 
was undulating, but gradually rising as the trail ran west- 
ward, and was covered with loose black, yellow, and red 
bowlders, and split masses of rock. The wagon-trail was 
almost knee-deep with dust, and was sprinkled with broken 
stones, over which the wagons jolted dismally. Beyond, 
as far as the eye could reach, and disappearing over the 
swales of the surface, stretched a long, long line of earns, 
over which a pillar of dust continually rose into the hot 
air. The sun poured down its fiercest beams, and the far- 
off liills to the north looked as if they were calcined by 


180 


THE BO T EMIQRANTB 


the terrible heat, aud ashes seemed to cover their glowing 
sides. 

After a long and weary tramp, the boys reached Ante- 
\)pe Springs, a place whose name had such a pleasant 
sound to tliem, that they had longed for it very mucli. J ( 
was a bitter disappointment. Ilundreds of teams weie 
already there before them, and the two feeble little springs 
which had gushed out from under a ledge of rocks in this 
dryness, were trampled and choked with mud. The water 
which trickled down from tliese pools was not fit to drink ; 
even the suffering cattle would not touch it. After waiting 
several hours, and taking up a spoonful of water at a 
time, the boys secured enough to make some coffee — the 
first nourishment they had had since morning ; and it was 
now nearly sundown. 

Rabbit-hole Springs, twenty miles off, must be reached 
before any water for the cattle and horses could be found. 
It was a day’s drive, in the best of times. Now they must 
make it in one night. 

The poor animals, hungry and thirsty, could hai-dly 
drag the wagons over the rough roads ; and the boys, faint, 
foot-sore and sleepy, stumbled along in the dark, ready to 
fall down and sleep forever in the rocky way. As the 
night wore on the air grew cool, and they toiled up and 
down the steep ridges with some sense of relief. 

During the night, while sweeping down a mountain- 
side, the party suddenly blundered into the midst of the 
encampment of a large company of emigrants. These 
people were evidently tired out with their march ; not one 
of them was to be seen. Their cattle were scattered 
about in all directions, and their tents were silent as the 
grave. Into tliis tranquil settlement suddenly burst the 
train of the Roses, the young emigrants, and several others 


IN THE DESERT. 


181 


who had ‘‘ bunched ” together while crossing the desert. 
In a twinkling, the loose animals ruslied to the right and 
left among the tents and wagons, startled by the unex- 
pected sight, or searching for something to eat. 

The confusion was instant and dire. Men rushed out 
of their tents, or from under their wagons, half-dressed and 
panic-stricken. Their alarm changed to rage when they 
saw the cause of the midnight invasion ; and they tried 
in vain to stop the bewildered cattle, who charged on the 
tents, tore down the canvas, and hungrily grabbed at any- 
thing eatable and in reach. Old Jim snatched a huge 
bundle of grass in his teeth, and bore it off triumphantly, 
never heeding the stones and yells flung after him. 

Men shouted, women screamed, children bawled, dogs 
barked, and cattle bellowed. The surprise was complete, 
and the stampede perfect. It took a long time to straighten 
out the trains, separate the cattle, and pacify the stran- 
gers, who returned to their dismantled tents in a very 
unhappy frame of mind. 

“ Shouldn’t hev camped right on the trail if ye didn’t 
want to git up and dust in the middle of the night,” was 
Bush’s remark as he collected his small equipage of c-ow 
and cart and weiit swinging down into the valley, with as 
much self-complacency as if he had commanded the whole 
train. 

The night grew cooler, and when the caravan readied 
the long, sandy plain which now stretched out towards 
Rabbit-hole Springs, Arty wrapped his blanket about hia 
shoulders and journeyed out into the mysterious star- 
lighted waste, accompanied only by his faithful Pete. 
The road was heavy with loose sand, but not dithcult to 
walk in, and the boy soon passed out of all sight and hear- 
ing of the teams behind him. He was alone in a Fca of 


182 


THE EOT EMIGEAJfTS. 


Band, the dog keeping close behind at his heels. The sky 
spangled with stars, bent over him, and far off the dim 
horizon shaded away into the gloom of the distant hills. 
Arthur fancied himself a lost traveler, far from human 
habitation or human trace, and he pressed on against the 
rising breeze with a keen sense of the novel loneliness of 
his condition. The cries of the ox-drivers and the crush 
of wheels had died away in the distance, and only when 
Pete, terrified at the unearthy stillness, came up from be- 
hind, whined for a word of recognition and dropped back 
to his place, did the lad hear any sound that reminded 
him that he was in the land of the living. 

Reaching a drift of sand, where the wind had called 
up a wave in the shape of a furrow, Arty wrapped his 
blanket about him and lay down and gazed out on the 
lonely desert waste, with a strange sort of fascination. 
Pete whimpered at this unusual proceeding. He seemed 
anxious and disturbed by the strange infiuence of the 
night ; and he crept under the boy’s blanket and snuggled 
up close, as if for companionship. 

Presently, while Arty was dreamily looking off into the 
gloom, and wondering why he was not sleepy, the dog 
growled uneasily. 

“ Oh, keep still, Pete 1 One would suppose you saw a 
ghost.” 

But the dog, thus reproved, was silent only for a mo 
ment. He growled again with more positiveness, and 
Arty, straining his ear, caught no sound coming out of 
the mysterious shadows. 

‘‘ What a fool I was to come out here alone,” he mut- 
tered. “ Keep still, Pete, can’t you ? But there are nc 
Indians on this desert, I’m sure ; nothing for ’em to e»t 
Wild animals, perhaps 1 ” 


IN THE DESEUT. 


183 


And here Pete, who could endure it no longer, bounced 
out from under the blanket, where he had been growling 
and grumbling to himself, and barked loud, long, and 
without restraint. 

The boy hushed him for a moment, when a faint cry of 
‘‘ Hallo I Arty I ” came out of the darkness. It was Mont’s 
VDice, and Pete bounded off to meet him. 

“ Q racious 1 how you scared me, Mont ! ” said Arty, as 
his comrade came up. ‘‘ What are you ahead for ? ” 

“ Well you see. Hi is driving. Barney Crogan is asleep 
in tJie wagon, and Tom is riding with Nance’s folks. So 
I got lonesome and came on ahead to find you. Nice 
night.” 

‘‘ Yes, but how strange it is. Sec those stai’s. That’s 
Orion, you know. My mother showed me that constella- 
tion ever so many years ago ; and, do you know, I was just 
thinking how queer it is that all those stars should shine 
over us here, away off in the desert, just as they used to at 
Sugar Grove; just as they used to shine in Vermont, I 
suppose — but I don’t remember much about that.” 

The young man made no answer, but sat down l)y 
Arty’s side, clasped his hands over his knees, and looked 
out into the shadowy plain. The boy was silent again, 
the dog curled up and slept at his feet, and Mont thought 
of the stars shining over his New England home, far away. 
He saw the gable windows of his mother’s house gleaming 
in the moonlight, the bronzed elms that made daik 
shadows over the lanes of the suburban town where his 
f id home was, and the silvery river that rushed under the 
bj’idge with wooden piers, which he had crossed so often. 
Around liim stretched a trackless, uninhabitable waste. 
It was as silent as the tc»mb. Out of its depths came no 
sound ; only the chill night wind whispered over the sand- 


184 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


di\iie8 and amoiii^ the pebbles lying in the dark h<.>llowi 
of this sea of sand. 

Suddenly, as lie mused, out in tlie vague mystery of the 
plain he heard the boom of a deep-toned bell — once, twtce^ 
tliriee, four times sounding on the air. 

“ Tlie bell I the bell ! ” he shouted, and started to hii 
feet. Pete harked in sympathy. 

“ Golly ! what bell ? ” asked Arty. 

“The nine o’clock bell at Camhridgeport ! At least, I 
thought 1 heard it just then!” lie added: “Good 
heavens! Am I mad? — or dreaming?” Then he laughed 
confusedly, and said: “Well, I must have been in a 
waking dream. Don’t mind it. Here comes the train.” 

And, as he 6])oke, the teams came, slowly grinding their 
way through the dai'kness of the night. 

The waning moon had faded away in the early gray of 
the morning before the tired emigrants reached Rabbit- 
hole Springs. It was a queer place. A dry, smooth hill, 
rounded and baked, bore on its topmost curve a cluster of 
wells. These were dug by emigrants, and they reached a 
vein of water which kei)t these square holes always sup- 
plied. Rude steps were cut in the sides of the pits, and, 
cautiously creeping down them, the precious water was 
dipped up plentifully. No matter how many were filled, 
the supply never gave out. 

Here the party drank and gave to their beasts. Then, 
filling all available vessels, they went on to the plain be- 
low, where, at fenr o’clock in the morning, they halted 
long enough to get ready a meagre breakfast. The air 
began to grow warm again as the wind fell, and Arty, 
stupefied with fatigue and sleeplessness, stumbled about 
his camp-stove in a daze. Everybody but himself had 
dropped in the dust to sleep. He was alone, although a 


IN THE DESERT, 185 

thousand people vvcre camped all about on tLe sandy 
plain. 

There was no fuel but dry grease- weed, and his handi 
were in the dough. 

Get up and get something to burn, you Grogan,’’ ho 
«aid crossly, kicking his sleeping brother’s shins as he laj 
under the wagon. 

“ Yes, mother,” drawled the young fellow in hia 
dreams ; “ I’m coming — coming,” and he was asleep 
again. 

Half-crying with vexation, Arty sat down on the wagon- 
tongue and shouted out, in the most general way : ‘‘ If 
some of you fellows don’t wake up and get some firing, 
you’ll have no breakfast, so now 1 ” 

Xobody stirred ; but Nance, gingerly picking her way 
over the pebbly ground, barefooted and dusty, came up 
and said : 

‘‘ I’ll help ye, Arty. Take yer hands out o’ that dough 
and get yer firewood, and I’ll finish yer bread. Salt ? 
Bakin’-powder ? Now git.” 

‘‘ Nancy, you’re the best girl I ever knew,” said Arty. 

‘‘ That’s what she is,” interposed Johnny, who was now 
sitting up in the sand. ‘‘ Did you call, Arty ? ” 

‘‘ Lie down again and nap it while you can,” said Arty, 
Lis anger all gone. ‘‘You’ve a long tramp before you 
to-day, my little man.” 

Only two hours were allowed for breakfast, and then 
the weary march began again. One of Hose’s men — a 
tall, gangling young fellow, known in the camp as 
“Shanghai” — threw up his contract and determined to 
“ get out and walk.” He declared that he had been 
“ pu*; upon ” long enough. He had not been provided 
rith the cattle-whip which had been promised him, H# 


186 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


hud been compelled to drive loose cattle in the fearful 
dust of the day before, while some more favored person 
was allowed to drive the steers. To crown all, he liad 
had but one spoonful of dope ” at breakfast that day 
This was too much. He would go on alone. 

Van Orman, a stolid, black-bearded man, one of Rosc\ 
teamsters, who had very profound views on the 8ul)jcct of 
earthquakes and volcanoes, and who never, under any 
circumstances, could get enough to eat, listened to poor 
Shanghai’s tearful complaints, threw down his whip, and 
said : 

“ Hang it! Shanghai, I’ll go with ye 1 ” 

And these two pilgrims, packing all tlmir worldly 
effects in one small bundle, took their way over the arid 
hills towards the Golden Land. 

At noon, the long caravan, passing over a succession of 
rocky and dusty ridges, reached the last one, from which 
they gazed off into the Great Plain. It was like a vast 
sea. Far to the westward, a chain of sharp, needle-like 
peaks towered up to the sky. Northward, a range of 
hills, flaming in red and blue, looked as if they were 
masses of hot iron. South, the undulating level melted 
into the brassy sky. Across the dusky waste a long line 
of wagons traveled, far below the point on whicli the boy 
emigrants paused before they began their descent. 

licxjkiiig towards the red-hot hills, and over the ]>lainj 
tremulous with heated air, Arthur saw, to his intense 
Bur])risc, a crooked, shining line of blue. It glided out 
and in among clumps of willows, and rippled in the 
sunshine. It was a creek, a cmsiderahlo stream, and, 
even from this distance, he could almost hear the guigle 
vf the hlesi ed water. 

“ VV'aterl water 1 ” he cried, almost with tears. 













• . 

, * • 


<« 










TN THE DESERT. 


187 


Ercrybody gazed Even the sullen cattle sniffed it 
•<vith their noses, and poor Tige set up a disconsolate 
bellow as lie looked. 

“Only a mirage, Arty,” said Mont, with a tinge of 
despondency. “ See it pass ? ” 

And, as he spoke, the trees faded away, the blue waters 
Slink into the earth, and only the parched rocks and hills 
remained. Then, moving down, the delusion seemed to 
envelop the caravans below. The wagons grew and 
grew until they appeared to be fifteen or twent} feet 
high. Then these spectral figures broke in two, and on 
each wagon was the shape of another, bottom up and its 
wheels in the air. Then on this ghostly ligiii*e was 
another wagon, its wheels resting on the wheels of that 
below. This weird procession lasted a moment, shud- 
dered, and melted away like a dream. Only the common- 
place caravan plodded its w^eary way through the pow- 
dery dust. 

At sunset, after a second distressing day’s drive, the 
travelers reached the range of peaks which, like an island, 
divided the desert into two parts. Ilere was water, so hot 
that an egg might have been boiled in it. Tige, who w^as 
on the sick list, put his black muzzle into it, and, aston- 
ished at the phenomenon, set off on a brisk run with his 
tail in the air. 

“ Poor old chap I He has not got all his wits about him, 
now that he is sick,” said Mont, compassionately. 

iLven when the water was cooled in pails, the cattle 
distrusted it, and hesitated to taste it. The boys stewed 
beans, baked biscuit, and made coffee, using a portion of 
the scanty stock of fuel brought a long way for this very 
pujpose; for here not even grease- weed, nor the tiniest 


TRE DOT EMIGRANTS, 


j8d 

blade grass, ever grow. The surface of the ground 
was utterl}' hare. 

A little withered grass, brought from the Humboldt 
remained iu the wagons, and was distributed among the 
cattle. Tigc refused to cat it, and as the boys sat in the 
d<x)r of their tent, eating their desert fare, the docile ani- 
mal came up, and, resting his nose on Arty’s shoulder, 
looked, winking, into his tin plate of stewed beans. 

“ Have some, Tige ? ” said Arty. “ Poor old Tige, he’s 
off his grub.” 

And the steer, cautiously sniffing at the plate, put out 
bis tongue, tasted with apparent satisfaction, and licked 
up the whole. 

“Now, 7 call that extravagance 1 ” said Tom, ladling 
oat another plateful of beans. 

“ And I call it gencwinc humanity. That’s what it is, 
blister Smarty,” rejoined Hi. “ Whatever else we haven’t 
got, 1 allow we’ve beans enough to get us through with.” 

At sundown onward went the emigrants, as if pursued 
by some hidden enemy. Out into the desert swept the 
great train of wagons, cattle, men, and women — out into 
the desert, with the tall and inotionle8& peaks of purple 
towering above them into the evening sky, now flushed 
and rosy. How they tramped on and on, like a caravan 
of life, out into an unknown world, rich and poor, young 
and old together 1 Leaving behind them their homes, and 
leaving by the way their dead, they swept past the islanded 
mountains, and so pressed on to the West. 

When the night came on, and the yellow moon flooded 
the vast level plain with liquid light, the sight was very 
strange. The air was cool, the ground white with a firm 
sand which scarcely yielded to the easily running wheels 
In the weird lustre that covered the plain, a lame steer. 


IN TEE DESERT. 


18S 


turned out to die, and standing' away off from tlic trail 
loomed up like a giraffe. Looking back, the l()ng ti*ain 
Beemed to rise up and melt away into tlie air ; and forward, 
the blue-black mountains that bounded the plain were 
flecked with silver where the moonlight fell on quartz 
ledges and patches of belated snow. 

Occasionally a cry from the rear told that anotlier 
critter ” had fallen, and some one must be detailed to 
bring it along, if possible. But the train rolled on unlil 
the camp-fires of Granite Creek shone on the desert. At 
two o’clock in the morning, inexpressibly weary, the emi- 
grants reached a slightly raised plateau at the foot of 
another range of mountains. Without waiting to examine 
the ground, which was a rough plain bordering on a cicek, 
the boj’S put up their tent, unyoked the cattle, who were 
too tired to stray, dropped into their blankets, and slept 
until long after the next day’s sunrise. 

Many of the cattle brought here, after the drive across 
the Great Plains, were left to die. The boys rested one 
day, and, when another night came on, they yoked their 
unwilling oxen, and were off again. It was sunset when 
they passed southward around the spur of mountains which 
lay across their path. And it was four o’clock on the 
following morning when they paused and built another 
camp-fire in the midst of the last stretch of desei-t, on the 
western side of the range. Here was a level, floor-like 
plain, and the tents pitched with the flaps rolled up gave 
the scene an Oriental air. No Arabian coffee in the desert 
was evermore delicious than that which our weary young 
pilgrims drank. And no delicacies of a luxurious city 
could have been more welcome to these wan<lering sons 
than the well-browned biscuits wliich A 'ty’s deft hands 
drew f r >m their camp-ovem 


190 


THE BOY EMIQ BANTS. 


The last day’s travel was the hardest of all. Cattli 
dropped by the wayside. Strong men fainted with 
fatigue, or grew delirious with sleeplessness. In some 
of the companies there was real want, and strange rumora 
of a ])lot to rob the better provided ones floated back and 
forth among the trains, now moving once more in single 
file over the bleak and barren hills. No vegetation met 
the eye, no insect or bii*d cried in the joyless air; a flerco 
sun poured down its rays upon the struggling line. Hero 
and there, a grave, newly made and rudely marked, 
showed where some poor pilgrim had fallen by the way. 
The very sky seemed to add to the utter desolation of the 
land. 

But, at sunset, the young emigrants, after fording a salt 
creek, climbed the rocky ridge which separated the desert 
from the fertile region known as the Smoke Creek country. 
The train toiled on and passed over the divide. Arthur 
and Mont paused and looked back. The setting sun bathed 
the plain below them in golden radiance. A flood of 
yellow sunshine gushed over the arid waste, and broke in 
masses among the violet shadows of the mountain range 
beyond. Eastward, the rocky pinnacles, glorified with 
purple, gold, and crimson, pierced a sky rosy and flecked 
with yellow. It was like a glimpse of fairy-land. 

Arty held his breath as he gazed, a ad forgot his fatigue 
f<T a moment. 

‘‘ It is as beautiful as a dream,” said the boy. 

“ And as cruel as death,” added nt 

^ I shall never forget it, Mont.” 

‘‘Norl/ 


THE GOLDEN LAND. 


CHAPTER XVll. 

THE GOLDEN LAND, 

“ Poor old Tige I We may as well take him out of th« 
yoke.” 

Tlu? plucky little ox would have dragged on with his 
mate (\Iolly until he dropped. But he was too sick to 
tiavel The boys were now near Honey Lake Valley, 
where feed was good and water plenty. They had crossed 
the last considerable ridge, or divide, before reaching the 
Sierra ; a few days more would bring tliein to their 
journey’s end. 

The faithful beast had pulled steadily tlirough the awful 
desert and over the volcanic region which lay between 
tJiat i-egion and the Honey Lake country. As Johnny 
and Arthur unfastened the yoke to let the invalid Tige 
go free, the creature looked around in wonder, as if to ask 
the reason of this unwonted proceeding. 

“ Tige, my boy,” said Arthur, 1 am afraid you won’t 
wear the yoke again.” 

“ Is he so bad as tha *., Arty ? ” asked Johnny, sympatheti- 
rally, and almost with tears. 

VfeW, you see, Johnny,” interposed Barnard, “ there 
is very little chance for a critter that’s alkalied ever to get 
well. That dose of melted fat we gave him yesterday 
didn’t do him one bit of good. Hi says that he allows 
that his milt is all eaten through with alkali. Whatever 
the milt may be, I don’t know ; do yoi\ Mont ?” 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


IV2 

“ Diaphragm, I guess,” said Mont. 

‘Dyer what?” asked Tom. “Dyer — well, that’s s 
gCK/d one. 1 tell you it’s the milt. Don’t you know what 
the milt is? ” 

“Give it up,” said Barney, shortly. “Hurrah, there’s 
tile Sierra!” 

And as he spoke, their team, drawn now by one yoke, 
rounded the ragged summit of the ridge, and they beheld 
the Sierra Nevada. 

Below was a winding valley, dotted with isolated lofty 
pines, and bright with green grass. A blue stream ram 
bled about the vale and emj)tied into a muddy-looking 
lake at the south. This was Honey Lake, and the stream 
was Susan’s River. Beyond, westward, was a vast wall, 
bristling with trees and crowned with white peaks. It 
was the Snowy Range of Mountains. Beyond it was the 
promised land. 

The boys gazed with delight on the emerald valley and 
the sparkling river ; but chiefly were they fascinated by 
the majestic mountains beyond these. They were not near 
enough to see the smaller features of the range. But their 
eyes at last beheld the boundary that shut them out of the 
Land of Gold. The pale green of the lower hills faded 
into a purple-blue, which marked where the heavy growth 
of pines began. Above this, and broken with many a 
densely shadowed gulch and ravine, rose the higher Sierra, 
bald and rocky in places, and shading off into a tender 
LaUC wliere the tallest peaks, laced with snow, were sharp! y 
cut against the sky. 

Before the young emigrants were water, rest, and 
pasturage. But beyond were the mysterious fastnesses in 
which men, while they gazed, were unlocking the golden 
secrets of the earth. Up there, in those vague blue 


THE OOLLEN LAND. 


193 


ehadows, where the mountain torrents have their birth, 
miners were rending the soil, breaking the rocks, and 
seai-ching for hidden treasui*e. The boys pressed on. 

But two days passed before the emigrants, with their 
single yoke of cattle, and often delayed by swamps, and 
by getting on false trails, reached the base of the Sierra, 
It was now late in September, and the nights were cool. 
Wliile on the high ridges west of the Great Desert, they 
had had a touch of cold weather. Ice had formed outside 
of the tent on more than one night ; and, inside, the boys 
had shivered under their blankets and buffalo skins, though 
the days were hot. But here was fuel in plenty. 

Here, too, at the foot of the mountains, they found a 
ranch, or farm, the tiller of which had steadily refused 
to be charmed away by tales of gold discoveries on the 
other side of the wall of mountains. 

He leaned on his rail fence and eyed the vast procession 
of emigrants with a cynical air. The boys almost envied 
him the possession of such a trim little farm ; for, though 
it was really rude and straggling, it looked like a home, a 
haven of rest, after their long march in the desert and 
wilderness. They felt, for the first time, that they were 
ragged, uncouth, toil-stained, and vagabondish in appear- 
ance. Here was a man wearing a white shirt, or it was 
once white ; and a woman stood in the doorway, with 
knitting-work in her hands. It was a domestic picture, 
and in sharp contrast to emigrant life on the plains. 

‘‘Oh, you’re bound to the gold-diggin’s, you be?” he 
said, with an unpleasant leer. “Wal, now. I’ve heerd 
that men were makin’ wages over there — day wages just 
— and fiour at twenty dollars a hundred. But boys — wal, 
now, this gets me I Boys? No wages yonder for boys^ 
you jest bet your life I ” 


194 


TEE BOY BMIO RANTS. 


‘‘Don’t you worry yourself, old man,” retorted Di, who 
always did the rude badinage of the party. “ We’ll come 
back next week and buy out your shebang, boys or no boys, 
wages or no wages.” 

“ Got any vegetables to sell?” asked Barney, civdlly. 

“Vegetables! Stranger, look a-there!” said the ran* 
chero, pointing to a patch of ground well dug over. “ D’ye 
see that there patch ? Wal, that there ])atch was full of 
corn and taters. Corn don’t do well here ; too cold and 
short seasons. But this year them crazy ci'itters that hev 
been pilin’ over the mountains hev carried olf every stalk 
and blade and ear. What they didn’t beg, they stole ; and 
wliat wasn’t growed, was carried off half-growed.” 

“ Stole your crop ? ” 

“ That’s about the size of it. I’m from Michi^^^/i, 1 am, 
and was brought up regular ; but I jest laid out in that 
corn-field, nights, with a double-barrel shot-gun, unte. 
there wa’n’t no corn for me to hide in. Stole ? Why, them 
pesky gold-huntei-s would hev carried the ground away 
from under my feet, if they’d a-wanted it. Smart fellers, 
they be 1 ” 

“ Why don’t you go on and try your luck in the mines ?” 
asktid Barnard, who, with Mont and Arty, had lingered 
oehind, hoping that they might buy a few fresh vegetables. 

“ So far as I’ve heerd tell, there’s no luck there. Here 
and there a chunk, but nothin’ stiddy. The mines hev 
gi’n out ; they’ve been givin’ out ever since they was struck, 
and now they’ve gi’n out clean.” 

“ And are you going to stay here and farm it ? ” asked 
Barney. 

“ Young feller ” — and here the rough-faced rancher u 
put on a most sagacious air — “ ranchin’ here is better than 
gold-diggin’ over yender. Here I stay. That there’s mj 


THE GOLDEN LAND. 195 

wife, Susan ; that’s Susan’s Uiver yender, and this here’i 
Susanvillo, now hear me.” 

“ And you find farming profitable, although the emi- 
grants steal your crop ?” 

Wal, young feller,” he said to Mont, ‘‘you’re a sort of 

TiJ -spoken chap ; seein’ it’s you. I’ll sell you a few tatei-a 
for a dollar a pound.” 

The boys bought two pounds of potatoes and went on 
alarmed at their first great extravagance. 

“Never mind,” said Kose, when they told him of their 
purchase. “ You’ll have no more chance to buy potatoes 
after this. Kcckon you might as well get yer fust and 
last taste of ’em now.” 

Camping at night in the forests of the Sierra was like 
being in paradise. No more sand, no more sage-brush, no 
more brackish or hot water in the rivulets. Gigantic pines 
stretched far up into the star-lighted sky. Ice-cold streams 
danced over the mountain side. The cattle laid down to 
rest in n(X)ks car])eted with lush grass. The boj^s built a 
tremendous fire in the midst of their camp, piling on the 
abundant fuel in very wantonness, as they remembered 
how lately they were obliged to economize handfuls of 
dry grass and weeds in their little camp-stove. 

This was luxury and comfort unspeakable ; and as they 
basked in tJie cheerful light and heat, Hi said : 

“ I allow I’d just as soon stay here forever. The gold 
n lines are a fool to this place.” 

Baniey poked the glo^ving fire, which was kindled 
against a mighty half-dead pine, and said : 

“ Who votes this is a good place to stay in ? ” 

There was a chorus of laughing “ I’s ” about the fire, as 
the boys lounged in every comfortable attitude possible. 
At that, there was a horrible roar from the pine-tree by 


196 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


the fire, and from the midst of the curling flames suddenlj 
appeared a huge creature, which bounded through th« 
bJaze, scattered the brands, broke up the circle of loungers, 
who fled in all directions, knocked over little Johnny, and 
disappeared down the side of the mountain, with a savage 
growl. 

The boys stared at each other in blank amazement, and 
with some terror. 

An elephant 1 ” 

« A tiger ! ” 

A catamount I ” 

“ A grizzly bear I ” 

“ It was a bear I I felt his fur as he scrabbled over 
me ! ’’ said Johnny with a scared face and his teeth chat- 
tering. 

Just then, there was a shot down the mountain in the 
direction in which the monster had gone crashing through 
the underbrush. Then another, and another shot sounded. 
Everybody ran. They came up with two or three men 
fro^n a neighboring camp, running in the same direction, 
lieaching a little hollow in the wood, they found two em- 
igrants examining a confused dark heap on the ground. 

Wliat is it? ’’ cried the new-comers. 

\ A l)'ar,” said one of the men, taking out his knife and 
making ready to skin the animal. “ Heerd him crashin- 
through the brush and let him have it.” 

“ A grizzly ? ” asked Tom. 

“ No, a cinnamon, I allow,” said the other man, striking 
a light for his pipe, before he began to help his comrade. 

Johnny, who had not quite recovered from his fright, 
Icoked at the bronzed face of the emigrant, illuminated as 
it was for a moment by the flaming juatch, and ex 
claimed : 


TRE O OLDEN LAND, 


197 


** Bill Ounce 1 ” 

Hello ! iiiy little kid,” said the fellow unconcernedly. 
** VVhar’ve yer bin this long back? ” 

Johnny was too much astonished to reply, and Mont, 
with some severity of manner, said : 

“ This is the boy you abandoned on the Mississippi 
liiver, is it not, Ounce? ” 

“ Well, Tiow, strannger, I allow you are too many for me. 
My understandin’ was that he throwed off on me. Say, 
pard,” he continued, addressing his mate, ‘‘just yank him 
over on his back. There now, this skin’s wuth savin’ 
Lie’s tat, he is ; must weigh nigh onto three hundred.” 

The boys went back to their camp-fire very discontent- 
edly. After all, there was nothing to be done. They 
might have accused Bunce of attempting to steal Old Jim. 

“ Well, we’ve got our baked potatoes, anyhow,” grumbled 
Barney, as he raked two dollars’ worth of that useful 
vegetable out of the ashes. 

Later, while they were debating as to what they might 
demand of Bill Bunce, when they should see him again, 
the comrade of that mysterious person appeared by tho 
camp-fire with a huge bear-steak. 

“ With Mr. Bunce’s compliments,” he said, with a grin. 
“ It was your bear-like, as it mought be ; came outen your 
back-log,” and the stranger disappeared. 

“ Cheeky,” said Barney. 

“ Now, a b’ar-steak is not to be sneezed at. We’ll have 
w jaw with that Bunce feller to-morrow,” said Hi, survey 
ing the welcome fresh meat with great gratification. 

But, next day, when the boys awoke at sunrise, and sur- 
veyed the neighboring camping-grounds, no trace of Bill 
Bunco’s party was to be found. They had “ lit out ” early 
in the dawning, a good-natured emigrant informed them 


TEE BOY EMIQ BANTS. 


On the second day after this adventure, the party reached 
« narrow ridge, the summit of the gap in the Sierra ovei 
wliich they weie passing. They had toiled up a steep in- 
cline, winding among rocks and forests. Before tlien 
was a descent toe steep for any team to be driven duwi 
A. Yet the road pitched down this tremendous incline. 
*nd they saw the tracks of wagons that had just gone on 
ahead. 

“ See here,” said Mont, who had been spying about 
‘‘ Here are marks on the trees, as if ropes had been slippei 
around them. They have let the wagons down this inciinor 
plane by ropes.” 

“ But where are the ropes for us ? And how do the\ 
get the cattle down ? Slide tlicm ? ” asked Barney. 

I don’t know where our ropes arc to be got,” replie(< 
Morse. “ But you can see the tracks of the cattle in the 
underbrush. They have been driven down that way.” 

Here was a dilemma. They could hardly urge thv» 
cattle up the steep slope on the eastern side. There was 
not room enough for two teams to- stand on top, and west- 
ward the ridge dropped away sliarply, like the smooth 
roof of a house, for several hundred feet. 

‘'Oh, here comes the Knight of the Rueful Counte- 
nance 1 ” said Mont. “ He has a coil of rope.” And the 
ead-faced Messer came urging his cattle u]) the hill. The 
situation was explained to him. 

“ Yes, I allow I’ve heerd tell of this yere ])lacc/’ he 
Raid, “and powerful bad sleddin’ hit is. Kow, how d’yer 
allow to get down ? ” 

Barnard explained to him how other peo]>le must lui\e 
gone down. The rope was produced from Messei ’s wagoiu 
one end made fast to the hinder axle of a wagon. Then 
a turn was taken about a tree, and some of the party care 


TUB O OLDEN LAND. 


193 


liilly steadied the vehicle down the hill, while the others 
held the ro|)e tauii;ht, and let it slip around the tree-trunk, 
as the wagon slid slowly down. The cxen and h^ose 
cattle were driven over by a roundabout way througli tfie 
Inrush. Poor old Tige at once lay down on reachirg tlie 
\ alley below, and Arthur almost wept as the sick creature 
staggered to his feet and struggled on after the trair, 

OO Do f 

M hen they had crossed the divide and yoked up on the 
western side of the range. 

Passing through “ Devil’s Corral,” a curious, huge bowl 
of rocks, set up like a gigantic wall about a grassy hollow, 
the party camped on the margin of a magniticent meadow. 
Here was a flat valley, tilled with springs and rank with 
gl ass and herbage. A pure stream circled about its edge, 
and, like a wall, a growth of tall pines and lirs shut it in 
all about. The forest whicli sloped down to this enchanted 
B})Ot was aromatic with gums and resin, and multitudes 
of strange birds tilled the air. 

In this lavish plenty, the boys camped for two days, in 
order that the tired cattle might be rested. It seemed as 
if the abundant grass and sparkling water might restore 
Tige’s health, if anything could. Arty carefully tended 
the poor beast. Put he was filled with forebodings, and, 
rising early in the morning after their first night in tlio 
valley, went out to look after his favorite. Jelmny was 
up before him, and came towards Arty, dashing something 
from his eyes with his brown fist. 

‘‘ AVell ? ” said Arthur, with a little quiver in his voice. 

“ lie’s all swelled up,” sobbed the boy. 

Arthur ran down ijito the meadow. The little black 
steer was lying cold and stiff. Tige’s joi rney wai 
done. 

There was lamentation in the camp, and the sallow 


200 


THE BOY EMIOBANTB 


Missourian, who had camped with Captain Hose and the 
boys, said, with the deepest melancholy : 

“ Such luck ! Wish 1 hadn’t a-come I ” 

From this point, emigrants dropped out to the north and 
south, and some pressed on to the westward, striking for 
the rich mines said to exist on the edge of the Sacramento 
Valley. 

The news was good. More than that, it was intoxicat- 
ing. Men raced about as if they had 2 fever in their 
bones. The wildest stories of gold-finds floated among 
the camps, faces grew sharp with anxiety and covetous- 
ness, and mysterious murmurs of robberies and darker 
crimes began to All the air. The boys were on the edge 
of the gold diggings. The wildness and lawlessness came 
up from the whirl beneath like faint echoes into these 
peaceful old forest solitudes. 

On the last day of September, the boy emigrants 
mounted Chapparal Hill. Mont, Arty, and Barnard, 
climbing a peak near by, looked off on a golden valley, 
rolling far to the west, shining with streams and checkered 
with patches of timber. Westward, a misty mountain 
wall of blue melted into the pale sky. Nearer, a range of 
purple peaks rose, like a floating island in the midst of a 
yellow sea. This was the valley of the Sacramento, with 
the Coast Range in the distance and the Sutter Buttes in 
tlie midst. Behind all, but unseen, rolled the Pacific. 

The wagons crept over Chapparal Hill, halted by 4 
group of canvas and log liouses. A ]mrty of uncouth 
looking men were loitering about the camp. Beyond, by 
a creek, others were shovelling soil into a long wooden 
trough, in which water was running. Others were wading, 
waist deep, in the stream. 

There was an odor of fried bacon in the air, and th* 


THE O OLDEN LAND. 201 

Biiiking BUT! shone redly over the camp fires, where the 
men were cooking their supper. 

‘‘ How’s the diggings asked Captain Hose of a tall 
fellow, who was lying at full length on the ground, and 
teasing a captive magpie. 

Slim,” was tlie reply. 

“ Well, I reckon we’ll stop here for the present. Claims 
ail taken up ? ” 

Thar’s room enough ; ” and the miner laughed as he 
went on with his play with the bird. 

The boys, somewhat dejected, drove down by “the 
branch,” unyoked their cattle, and set up their tent. 

This was the Golden Land. 


9 * 


202 


THE BO i EMIGRANTS. 


CnAPTEll XV^IIL 

OliOWBAIT GULCH. 

There was net much time for the young miners to look 
about them. Their provisions were nearly exhausted, cold 
weather was coming on, and what mining was to be done 
must quickly be undertaken. They were on one of the 
innumerable branches of the Rio de los Plumas, or, as the 
new-comers called it, “ for short,” Feather River. This 
branch was only a shallow creek now, rippling over a bed 
of gravel. Later, it would bo swollen with the fall rains, 
and choked with floating ice. Their stock of ready cash 
which had seemed considerable when they left home, was 
now so small that it would hardly buy a hundred pounds 
of flour. Their bacon was quite gone, and the only sta[)lo 
article of food left them was a goodly bag of beans. Far- 
mer Stevens had insisted on their taking aplenty of beans. 
The beys had remonstrated, and Barney had laughingly 
said that the miners would accuse them of being bean 
merchants. But he and Arty now saw the wisdom of th»‘ir 
father’s advice. Beans were in great demand. Sixteen dol 
la 1*8 for twe quarts of beans had been j)aid at the Chap- 
j»aral Hill diggings ; and the boys had nearly a liusliel. 

By some miscalculation, as they thought, they hmi 
brought more coffee thnn ey needed. Often and often, 
the weather was so bad that they could not n^astand grind 
the green coffee which was part of their outlit ; they had 
used the tea, Ixicause tliat could l>e easily steeped, as lung 


CROWD AIT OULGH, 


203 


as they 3oiild heat a pot of water. But tlie coffee haJ re- 
sisted all their efforts to get rid of it. When their wagon 
was upset in the hard jdaces on the plains and over ^.lie 
niountains, the coffee was always safe. The passing eini' 
grants, who asked them if they had any stores to sell or 
exchange, never wanted coffee. It was too much trouble 
to preimre it. The boys had thirty pounds of coffee and 
almost a bushel of beans. This represented a small for- 
tune, though they had no money. 

They had one ox, one cow, and one horse. But poor old 
Jim was so thin and feeble that he was at once named by 
the friendly miners Crowbait.” Their wagon was in fair 
condition. The tent was as good as new. They had pans, 
picks, and shovels for gold mining ; and with stout hearts, 
strong hands, and high hopes, what was not possible to 
them ? The gold was hidden all about them in the ravines, 
gulches, and river beds. They had come to dig it out, and 
they were impatient to begin. 

Scattered up and down the stream wore small encamp- 
ments of diggers. A few had tents ; many slept in the 
open air, wrapped in tlieir blankets, though the nights 
were chill. Some of the more home-loving miners had 
built booths of boughs and logs, and had fashioned rude 
tables, benches, and a few bunks from the costly lumber 
which found its way up here from Greasertown, a small 
camp down the river, where some industrious Mexicans 
had established a saw-pit. These little settlements were 
at once given names of some sert, in order to distinguish 
liem from each other in the lude gossip of the country. 
One group of tents, cabins and bwtha, which boasted of a 
population of tvv'erity-five men, was known as “ Forty 
Thieves,” though there were only twenty-five people in the 
camp, and not one v as a thief. Another was called “ Fatty 


204 


THE BOT EMIO RANTS. 


Gulch,” becaii&e one of the members of the party in th% 
camp happened to be an excessively lean fellow; and 
another was dubbed “ Swellhead Diggings,” on account 
of the personal character of several miners located there. 
Farther down stream were “ Slap-Jack Bar,” “ Bogus 
Thunder,” and “One Eye,” names which might have 
meant something yesterday, and which stuck there long 
after men had forgotten why they were ever given. 

“ I allow I’ll light out of this,” said Captain Rose, when 
they had been two days in camp. They had settled up 
accounts all around, and were now ready to dissolve part- 
nership. 

“Well, if you go, we allow to stay, and if you stay, we 
allow to go,” said Ilirain, very frankly. “Thar ain’t 
room for all of us.” 

“ You can stay then, boys,” said Rose. “ There’s nothin’ 
doin’ here. Nobody’s makin’ more than one or two 
ounces a day, and I want more than that.” 

“ More than that ! ” cried Arty, opening his eyes with 
amazement. “ Why ! one ounce is sixteen dollars. Six- 
teen to thirty dollars a day ! ” 

“ That may suit you, young fellers,” said Rose, discon- 
tentedly. “ I’ve heerd tell on chaps down on the Ameri- 
can River takin’ out a thousand dollars at a lick. That’s 
ahout my size. I’m bound to go out to the American. 
Be you fellers goin’ to hang together ? ” 

“ Really, we had not thought of that,” said Mont, with 
a smile. “ We have not divided up our little propeity^ 
1 suppose we shall stick together for the present.” 

“ I thought ye were limited pardiiers,” rejoined Rose. 
“ And if ye are, I’d like to have Arty along with ma 
Arty’s a chirpy bov, and I’l give liim a good si ow if he’d 
like to "0 along.” 


CROWBAIT QULCH. 


205 


Arthur had heard a great deal about the falulous richeii 
dug up along the banks of the American, and he was fired 
with ambition to make money suddenly. Here was a 
chance for him to go. He looked at Barney and Johnny. 
He (iaught Mont’s eye watching him with an expression 
of anxiety, and, breathing a little quicker than usual, he 
said: “Thank you, Captain Eose, I’ll stay with the rest 
of the boys.” 

“Hope you’ll never be sorry for it. There’s lots of 
gold down there. None here to speak of,” and Captain 
Eose went away disappointed, for he liked the lad. 

“ How about this pardnership, anyhow?” said Hiram, 
when Eose, a few days later, had left them to themselves. 

“ My idea about it is that we go right on together,” 
said Barney. “ Arty and I must hang together, of course. 
And I don’t see how we can give up Johnny. He’s bound 
to stay with Arty, there, so that’s three of us to begin 
with. How about you and Tom, Hi ? ” 

Hi “ allowed ” that he could not go off by himself. 
Tom was willing to do whatever Hi said, but he preferred 
to stay with the Stevens boys. 

“ I was the last one of the firm at Council Bluffs, you 
know,” said Mont, “ and I agreed that it should be a lim 
ited partnership, lasting only until we reached the dig 
giuj^s ; and here we are.” 

“ And you want to bust up the pardnership? ” demanded 
Hi. 

“ Oh no. Pm in favor of continuing the old firm aa 
long as we can live and work together harmoniously.” 

“ That’s just my gait,” said Hi, enthusiastically 
“Shake!” and he extended his rough hand in token of 
concluding the bargain. Mont took his hand, and, with a 
laugh, put his arm on Arty’s shoulder, and said, “ This [9 


306 


THE BO Y EMIO RANTS. 


tlie little chap that keeps ns together. So 1< ng as he has 
not set the example of running off on a wild goose chase, 
we can do no less than sta}’^ here and work it out.” 

“ I’d have liked to have seen liim going off with J: hn 
Ilose,” grumbled Barney. 

“It’s a share and share alike, isn’t it?” asked lib 
Just then liis eye lighted on Johnny, who was busily 
cooking over the plentiful camp-fire, ili’s countenam^o 
fell, afid he asked, with some constraint, “How about the 
little kid, yonder ? ” 

“Don’t call him a kid,” said Arthur, indignantly, 
“ That’s slang. Besides, Johnny’s quite a big boy now.” 

“ Yes,” laughed Hi. “He’s four months older than 
when we took him in at Council Bluffs. He can't do no 
work. You can, because you're two or three years older 
than he is, and are right smart at things.” 

“ Johnny can do as much as I can, come now ; and I’m 
willing to share with him. Tom, he and I will have to 
do the drudgery anyhow. 

“ No more drudgery for me,” put in Tom, with a frown. 

“ Sec here,” said Mont, there are three of us grown 
fellows and three boys. Arty and Barney belong together, 
and Tom, of course, joins his brother Hi. Let Johnny’s 
share be with mine; that will make three equal ])artneis 
in the camp. For my part, I am willing to give Johnny 
one-third of all I make. How’s that, youngster ? ” be said 
to Johnny, who had left his bean-stew to listen ^o this in* 
tcresting discussion. 

“Oh, that’s too much, Mont,” said the lad, grate f idly 
am willing to work for my board.” 

“ And clothes,” added Tom, who was astonished at 
Mont’s liberal preposition. 

“ Yes, and clothes,’" said Johnny, who had by this tim^ 


CRC WBAIT O ULCH. 20T 

found liis Council Bluffs outfit necessary to cover his 
growing limbs. 

‘‘ We sliall all become covet ms, by and by,” said Mont, 
seriously “ I want to make a bargain now, that we shall 
all keep. Barney, you and Hi ought to be willing to 
divide with your brothers as I shall divide with little 
Johnny here. I suppose 3"ou are. Then we shall have 
only three shares, though each of us will hav^e to divide 
with one of the boys ; that is, provided we have anything 
to divide. For, after all,” he added with a sober smile, 
“ we are counting our chickens before they are hatched.” 

“ The fact is,” said Barney, Arty and I are equal part- 
ners with each other. We settled that before we left 
home. But I am agreed that there shall be three equal 
shai-es in the new concern — yours, Ili’s, and mine. Never 
mind what we do with each share of any division we may 
make. How’s that. Hi ?” 

“ It’s a whack,” said Hi, heartily. So the partnership 
was reorganized and the partners were ready for work. 

They had “panned out” enough gold from a dry 
gulch near by to assure them that they could make fair 
wages there for a time. Most of the mining in that 
region was done by digging up the gold-bearing earth and 
carrying it to the river bank, where it was washed out 
with pans, cradles, or sluice-boxes, and the gold picked 
out. The commonest way 'svas to carry, or “ pack,” the 
earth in sacks on men’s backs, and then “ pan ” it out by 
the ri ^er. It was wearisome work. The pan was partly 
filled with dirt, then filled to the brim with water, aiid 
twirled around and round, first one way, then another, in 
the hands of the operator. The fine earth rose to the 
top, and vv’as carried over the edge of the pan with a 
peculiar turn of the wrist. Water was added, and was 


208 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


whirled oflf again, carrying the refuse earth with it, until 
nothing was left in the bottom of the pan but coarse sand 
and gold. Sometimes — very often, indeed — after all the 
washing and watching, there was nothing found in the 
bottom but coarse black sand. But a miner who had a 
shovel and a pan had all his necessary mining tools. With 
these on his back, sometimes carrying a pick, he traversed 
the country, searching for good diggings. If he found 
a poor prospect, he joui-neyed on and on looking for 
gold. 

On the very first day after the boys had camped on 
Chapparal Cj*cek they had “ prospected ” for gold. The 
precious stuff, in lumps, nuggets, dust, and coarse grains, 
was already familiar to their sight. They had sold a 
quart pot full of coffee for an ounce of golden ore. But 
they had never dug any out of the ground. 

It was an exciting time. In a gulch which led down 
from the mountains and opened out to the creek was a 
fiat place, overgrown with brambles and small shrubs of 
chapparal — a thorny bush — and cut up with the action of 
winter torrents. This had once been the bed of a stream, 
but only a slender thread of water crept do\m under the 
rocks which had formed tlie bottom of the old creek. 
The top soil was red and dry. Beneath it gi*ew darker, 
browner, and more gravelly. This they shovelled into 
pans, and lugged to the edge of the creek below. Mont 
and Hi each took a pan and began to wash. Hi threw 
the water over his legs instead of from him, amidst the 
laughter of the boys, who anxiously looked on. Mont 
twirled his panful of mud, sand, and water, quite dexter 
ously, fiirting off the superfiiious stuff with a })i-ofessiona- 
skill that delighted Arty, who secretly ho])ed that Mont 
would be the first to find the gold. Hi wabbled his par 


CBOWBAIT OULGK 


209 


about clumsily, and soon covered his legs with mud and 
water. The turbid currents rippled over the edge of 
Mont’s pan as it deftly revolved in his hands. Aity 
tliought he saw the shimmer of the gold in the cloudy 
mass. 

Hear it I Hear it ! ” shouted Hi. ‘‘ Hear it scratchin’ 
on the bottom of the pan ! ” 

Sure enough, there was a rattle of something in tlie 
pan different from the steady grinding of the coarse sand. 
Just then, Hi, who was highly excited, twirled his pan out 
of his hands, and it fell, amidst a chorus of ‘‘ Ohs 
from the boys, bottom up^ with its contents spilled all 
about. Hi impatiently snatched up his pan, and there, in 
a confused heap of sand and gravel, was a lump of bright, 
hard and shining gold ! With a great hurrah. Hi seized 
it, held it in the air, cut a clumsy caper, and cried : 

“ The fust gold for the Fender family ! ” 

It was a smooth, water- worn lump, of a dark yellow 
color, about as big as a robin’s egg, and shaped very much 
like a pear that has been squeezed nearly flat. 

Before the boys could sufliciently express their joy over 
this flrst gold of their own flnding, Mont, who had only 
looked up with shining eyes as he kept on with his work, 
whirled off the watery contents of his pan and showed the 
heavier mass at the bottom. There was about a quarter 
of an inch of black sand, and, shining on the surface, 
were fonr or five particles of gold. One was almost as 
big as a pea. The others were a little larger than pin- 
heads, and one was a crumb so small that it would have 
been lost if the black sand had not shown it so plainly. 

“ Sho ! that ain’t nothin’,” said Tom, contemptuously. 

Nothin’ ! ” exclaimed Hi, with equal contempt. 

Mont’s got die color there, and raoie too. That’s ovei 


210 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


three dollars ; and I allow one dollar a pan is a mighty 
big tiling. Them fellers up to Forty Thieves said tliat 
twenty-tive cents to a pan was good diggin’s.” 

A tall miner from One Eye, who was on his way 
n]> the creek, paused as he went by, looked on curiously 
at the boys, and with much excitement examined the half- 
washed heaps of earth on the ground. 

‘‘ Kight smart sort of a scad you’ve thar, strannger,” ho 
said, looking at Ili’s find. Must be more whar that come 
from.” 

“ Yes,” said Mont, “ we have just been prospecting up 
the ravine. Shouldn’t you think it worth while to follow 
7t up ? ” 

‘‘ Wal, I reckon yes. Chispas like that yere don’t grow 
into every mud-hole. Thar’s quartz rock whar that yere 
come from. But that's a long ways from yere.” And 
the tall stranger took his way on up the stream, quite un- 
concerned at the sight of the yellow metal which had so 
excited our boys. 

This was before Bose had left them. Rose, for his jiart^ 
was not in favor of creek-diggings. lie had heard of 
“ crevicing ” where the miners dug out the precious stuff 
from crevices in the rocks, after tearing away the earth ; 
and nothing but ‘‘crevicing” would suit him now. Ac- 
cepting the advice of some friendly neighboi-s at Forty 
Thieves, the boys formally made claim to the dry gulch, 
which they called “ Ill’s Gulch ” from that day. They 
\vcre mortified, some weeks later, to find that the miners 
of the neighborhood had ciiristened this “ Crowbait Gulch,” 
on account of some fancied connection which old Jim had 
with their good fortune. Their discomfiture was further 
increased when they discovered that the name was ex- 
tended over their cam]) and j>arty, so that they were called 


Clio WBAIT OULOH, 21 J 

riie Crowbaits,” just as if they had l;ecn a tribe of In 
d ans with tliat siiio;ular title. 

JSo disrespect was meant to tlieiii, however, and they 
tliought they could endure being known as “ The Cro’xr- 
baits ” so long as their nearest neighbors were content to 
be called “ Forty Thieves.” 

Now, at last, they had money enough to buy flour and 
meat, a claim that was as good as a mine, and a tent over 
their heads. Already gleams of gold shone in their hands, 
and rosy visions of wealth began to rise. There was a 
tolerably sure prospect for the future. Their trials were 
over, they thought. Their riches were almost on the sur- 
face of the ground. 

‘‘Do you know what this means, Arty?” said Barnard 
one day, showing him a crumb of gold. 

“Victuals and drink, board and clothes,” said the 
matter-of-fact youth. 

Barney stooped and whispeued in hia ear on© woi4— 
“ Home ” 


THE EOT EMIORANTt^ 


212 


CHAPTER XIX. 

GOLD. 

In a few weeks the young gold-seekers accumulated 
quite a stock of the precious ore. They could hardly be- 
lieve their eyes when they weighed it over and over again, 
figured up the value of it, estimated it, and speculated 
on the chances of there being more like it in their gulch. 
It was a marvellous thing that they should actually dig 
this stuff out of the ground. 

But there it was. It cost them many a weary day, and 
many a back-ache. They had stuck to their gold-pans; 
and two of the elder members of the party washed out 
the earth, which the others dug up in the gulch, and car- 
ried in sacks to the brink of the creek, where water was* 
plenty. They had tried to make use of the little stream 
hi the bottom of the gulch, but it was too slight to afford 
water enough; and they were continually digging under 
it, in hopes of finding rich lumps, or “ chispas.” The 
younger boys, in their intervals of packing the gold-bear- 
ing earth to the washing party by the creek, often washed 
out a panful of earth, furtively and eagerly, hoping to find 
a lich return for their own labor. The gold, hoTever, 
was, for the most part, in small bits, — like a very coai*SQ 
gunpowder, — with occasional fiakes as fine as meal. No 
such lump as that found by Hi at the beginning of theii 
prospecting could be discovered in the gulch. 

The diggings extended, so far as they could judge. 


GOLD, 


213 


quite across the flat mouth of the gulch or ravine, Tvhich 
was four or five hundred feet across, and outwards to a 
sharp ledge, which ran diagonally across it, and thence 
sloped off to the edge of the creek. This ravine narrowed 
rapidly, and ran up into the woody ridge, about two thou- 
sand feet from its mouth. So the gold-bearing claim of 
the young emigrants was a V-shaped patch of earth about 
four or five hundred feet wide, and tapering off to a point 
about one thousand feet from the mouth, and thence 
gradually ascending into the slope of tlie ridge. Mont 
and Barney made a very systematic ‘‘ prospecting ” of the 
claim before the boys decided to stay. They sank deep 
holes at intervals along the V which has just been de- 
scribed, digging sometimes to a depth of six or eight feet, 
before they reached the bottom layer of coarse black 
sand, gravel, and rock. The top surface was a rich soil, 
filled with vegetable mold and roots ; next below was a 
clayey loam, and then the gold-bearing sand, gravel, and 
pebbles. Below all was an uneven layer of solid rock, 
which seemed like the bottom of a basin. This was the 
bed-rock, and it rose gradually on either side of the ravine, 
until its nearly perpendicular sides were lost in the abrupt 
slopes which formed the walls of the gulch. Under this 
rock, which could be broken through in places, no gold 
was ever found. The bed-rock, then, was like a dish ; it 
tested on a layer of sterile, yellow gravel and clay. Into 
its platter-like surface the rain and floods of ages had 
washed down the soil, gravel, and water-worn gold which 
had once been scattered among the hills. Perhaps this 
gulch had been the outlet of an ancient river. Here the 
wash of the mountains hal been carried down by fi-eshots. 
Tlie sand and gravel had sunk to the bottom, resting on 
the bed-rock. The gold, washed out of ledges, now hid 


214 


THE BOY EMIORANTB 


<\en in the hills, had been worn smooth or *nto fantastic 
forms as it was tumbled alon^ in tlie eurrent and over the 
rocks; it had been swept into tlie river, and liad irone to 
the bottom with tlie gravel and stone. The sand liad 
followed it, and the soft soil which settled in, as the stream 
slackened its current and became shallow, filled in all (he 
interstices. Strange changes took place in the surface of 
the ccuntry. Hills rose up where none had been befoie, 
and grass, shrubs, and trees grew luxuriantly where once 
a river had flowed swiftly along. In Crowbait Gulch, for 
instance, the water almost ceased. The winter rains 
washed down the soil from the surrounding hills, and 
covered the rocks, the gravel, the gold, and the sand. 
Each season added its deposit of vegetable loam, and 
grass, wild roses, chapparal, and manzanita buslies grew 
up, as if to hide the golden secret which lay buried far 
beneath. 

Into tliis tangled thicket, broken only by the bed of a 
little stream, and by a few grassy spaces, came the young 
treasure-seekers. Countless ages had been necessary to 
prepare for them. AVliile centuries came and went, 
this wonderful work had gone on unseen. The gold liad 
been rolled and tumbled, ago after age, until it was 
rounded or smoothed like water-worn jiebbles, and, while 
generations lived and died, not even knowing of the exist- 
ence of this wonder-land, the precious ore, for which men 
go so far and work so hard, sunk into its latest resting-place, 
a id was covered from all human eyes. But not forever, 
for into this primeval solitude, in the fulness of time, had 
come the new masters of the mine. 

The golJ w’as laid in Crowbait Gulch for the boy emi- 
grants. But it was not yielded up to them without a 
struggle. Mont dug manfully, Arthur helping him at 


GOLD, 


215 


tiineK, and at times packing the eartli and gravel to Ili 
and Harney, who squatted all day long by the bank of the 
stream, twirling, twirling their pans, until their eyes ached 
and their heads reeled with the constant whirling of 
water, sand, and gravel — water, sand, and gravel, round 
find round again. Kot every panful of earth held gold. 
Very often it happened that the patient labor required to 
wash out a pan brought nothing but disappointment. 
Kevertlieless, it was fascinating business. As the soil dis- 
ajjpeared over the edge of the pan, and the sand began to 
show through the clearing water, the washer might expect 
to see the golden gleam of the ore. Or he saw nothing 
but common sand and gravel; and he began again with 
the hope that never died in him. 

Hi grew intensely interested in the work. He was 
continually expecting to find a big lump. He washed 
eagerly, almost feverishly. If he found a few rich grains 
r)f gold, his eyes sparkled, and his face beamed with 
]>]casure. If his pan showed nothing but barren sand, 
liis countenance changed, and he scooped up a fresh pan- 
ful of earth with a mutter of impatience. He was seldom 
rewarded by any marvellous return, and when Barney, one 
day, washed out a lump of gold as large as a hickory nut, 
Ili broke out in open rebellion against his “ luck and 
he regaided Barney’s find with eyes of covetousness, as if 
it were not one more acquisition to the common stock. 
Tiien, another day, when Arthur, uttering a cry of joy 
m!h 1 triumpli, dug out a lump of gold almost as big as that 
111 si found by Hi, he threw down his pan with an cxcla- 
inatioii of disgust and “allowed” that he had washed 
long enough. He would take his turn at digging. And 
BO he did, until after a while Mont, thinking that Hi wai 


216 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


growing thin and haggard with that work, exchanged 
places witli him again, and Hi went back to the pan. 

One day, while all hands were hard at work in and 
around the gulch, a voice up the thickly- wooded hill cried, 
^ Hillo, you! How does a fellow get down ? ” 

‘‘Slide,” said Mont, with a smile, as he straightened 
himself up from his toil and looked up the ridge. There 
was a crashing and rustling in the brush, and presently a 
small cart came down the steep slope, backward, and 
dragging after it a familiar figure. It was Bush. His 
wagon had lost its cover, and he was partly harnessed in 
tlic traces, as his little cow had been. 

Breaking through the undergrofvth, and half-riding, 
half-tumbling, Bus^^ and his go-cart reached bottom at 
last. Bush was brown, ragged, and as cheerful as ever. 

“ Sh’d think you might hev’ a road for visitoi*s, least- 
ways,” V»e managed to say, when he could catch his breath. 
Then, having disengaged himself from his rude harness, 
be advanced with both hands outstretched, cordially ex- 
claiming, “ I’m lookin’ for the honest miners of Crowbait ; 
and I reckon I’ve struck ’em at last. Shake 1 ” and Bush 
warmly greeted his old companions. 

“ Where’s your cow ? ” asked Barney, when their former 
comrade had been duly welcomed. 

“Wal, Suke, you see, she up and died one day. After 
I left you at the divide, I struck off toward the north ])art 
of the Yuba, and a powerful rough time we had of it. 
No trail — rocks, gulches and precipices, till you can’t 
rest. Suke was more or less alkalied on the plains, I 
reckon ; and the pull through the timber was t<X) much 
lor her. She pegged out one night, and the coytcs picked 
her bones before day Poor Suke I ” and Bush twinkled 


GOLD, 211 

H genuine tear from his eye, as he thought of his vicioua 
little cow. 

‘‘ Weill how are you making it,’’ he continued, briskly 

‘‘ struck it rich ? ” 

Yes, we’re doing first-rate,” answered Barnard, 
heartily. 

‘‘ Oh, not so powerful rich, though,” said Ili, with an 
uneasy glance at the rest who were gathered around. 
*Must a livin’, you know.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t be afraid of me,” said Bush very 
frankly, “I ain’t a-goin’ to stay here; I’m just a-pushin’ 
my way across to Dogtown, where 1 hear there’s great 
diggings. Thouglit I would take Ci'owbait on my way. 
1 seen Rose over on the North Yuba. He told me where 
you were, and when I inquired for ‘ the Boston boys,’ I 
learned you was Crowbait. Crowbait ! I s’pose that 
means Old Jim?” 

“Yes,” laughed Arty, “poor old Jim, who ought to 
have died on the plains, has lived long enough to give us 
his name. How’s your luck at mining. Bush ? ” 

“ Well, just ornery ; just ornery, boys,” and here Bush 
fished out of the bottom of his go-cart a canvas shot-bag, 
which he untied, and poured therefrom into his gold-pan 
about ten ounces of gold-dust. “ I should say about one 
hundred and fifty dollars’ worth. That’s all I’ve got to 
show. And that there cow of mine would have fetched 
almost twice as much if she’d lived.” 

“ Where did you pick up that dust ? ” asked Mont. 

“ Oh, in spots ; just in spots ; I haven’t worked reg’lar 
anywheres. No sooner do I get squared off for a wrastle 
with the pick and shovel than I hear of a better placc^ 
and I can’t stay.” 

10 


218 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS. 


Why, you ain’t earnin’ great wages,” said Hi, dis 
dain fully. 

“Sure’s you live,” rejoined Bush, with a sigh. Tl^en, 
brightening up, as if recalling a pleasant thought, he 
said: “And do you believe it, boys, a feller over on 
Kattlesnake Bar had the cheek to offer me day wages 
Fact, he did ! ” he added at the expression of suiprise on 
the boys’ faces. 

“ How much ? ” asked Tom. 

“ Why, twenty dollars a day, and found. Did you ever 
see such a fool ? ” 

“ What ! so much ? ” exclaimed Arty. 

“ Much ! much 1 ” almost screamed Bush. “ What do 
you take me for ? D’yer s’pose I’m a Josh to come away 
over here across the plains to work for wages? Not 
much,” he added scornfully. “ I’m goin’ to strike for a 
pile.” 

But Bush, if he had not made much money, had been 
busy enough collecting news of all his old acquaintances. 
He consented to stay over night with the boys, and gave 
them all the information he had concerning the country 
and the people in it. Bhilo Dobbs, Nance, and her 
mother, were over near Sable Mountain. AVhen last 
heard from they were stop])ing in a camp of Maine men, 
whose little settlement and diggings were called Bangor. 
Dobbs had “ struck it rich ; ” then he had invested it in 
gold in a new claim, and had lost it, and all this had 
happened in a week or two. Messer was still “ down on 
his luck,” and was over in the San Joaquin country 
somewhere. 

“ Then tJiere was that Dot-and-carry-one chap,” ad<led 
Bush. 

“ Yes!’* exclaimed Arthur, “ Bill Bunce^” 


GOLD. 


210 


“ Bunco was his name. But he is ‘ Dot-and-cairy-ono ’ 
in places where he stays now. ‘Dot/ for short, I should 
say. I heard of him. He’s down on the next branch to 
this, making money hand over fist. A fool for luck, 1 
say. Not any for me.” 

Bush gave the boys a great many valuable hints about 
mining. Tliough he liad not been himself successful, lie 
knew how to instruct others. Particularly he urged them 
to get a rocker ; it would wash as fast with one man to 
run it as ten men could with pans. A rockei-, or cradle, 
he showed them, was merely an oblong box, open at one 
end, and made to rattle like a winnowing machine by 
shaking. In this the earth was washed, precisely as in a 
pan, but with much greater speed and thoroughness. 

The boys told Bush that they had resolved to stay 
where they were all winter. He shook his head at this 
and said : 

“ 1 never have seen any man that has been in this 
jountry much longer than we have. Nobody’s been hero 
)ver one winter, ’s far’s 1 know. But the Injuns, tJiey say 
Uie snow’s right deep up this far in winter. If you winter 
»t here, you may as well get up a log-house. You’ll 
freeze in this cloth tent. It’s gettin’ on to November 
now, and the nights are fallish already.” 

This was a new view of the situation to the boys, to 
whom the climate was utterly unknown, and about which 
they had taken no thought. 

Bush pushed on merrily next morning, and, as the boya 
watched him on his way up the branch, shoving his go-cart 
before him, he stopped in the midst of his song and called 
back: 

“ How about grub % ” 

“ Plenty for the j resent,’' answered Mont. 


220 


THE EOT EMTO RANTS, 


Lay in enough before snow flies, or you’ll get pinched 
before spring. There’s traders down to Nye’s Hanch 
and that’s your place to buy.” 

With this farewell warning and advice, Bush waded 
deliberately into the stream, forded it, poured the watei 
out of his broken boots, whistled cheerily to himself, and 
di8a[»peared up tha bank. 


HO U8E-BUILDINQ. 


m 


CHAPTER XX. 

HOUSE-BUILDINO. 

To build a house without lumber was the next task 
which our boys were to attempt. The Mexicans, com- 
monly called “ Greasers,” who had set up a jig-saw in their 
saw-pit down the river, asked such enormous prices for the 
tew boai'ds and planks which they produced, that the boys 
were at once discouraged from buying of them. Lumber 
was iri demand for cradles, sluice-boxes, and other mining 
appliances, and the green stuff got out at Greaser Town 
was all that could be obtained in that region of the country. 

But the lads were bent on having a house over their 
heads. They must build it themselves. They had no 
money to pay laborers with, for their little accumulation, 
liandsome as it was to them, would not go far towards 
hiring assistance, even if there had been men to hire. 

But timber was growing on the hills near them, and 
they had nearly tools enough to build a cabin with, 
and what they did not have, their good-natured neighbors 
at Forty Thieves were willing to lend. Choosing out the 
clean, slender pines and firs of the forest above, the young 
Bet tiers cut down enough to make the walls of their hut. 
Trimmed and cut into lengths, these were snaked ” out 
of the woods by their single yoke of cattle, now brought 
into use once more. Then, a suitable underpinning of 
solid logs having been prepared, the tree-trunks were 
notched at the ends, so as to lit into each other. 


222 


THE BOY EMI0RANT8, 


It was heavy work handling tliese logs, and the yo ingei 
boys were almost in despair when they reflected that tlu* 
upi)er part of the cabin walls must be made by hoisting 
the sticks to a height above their heads. But Mont 6 (m)ii 
showed them that, by raising one end of a log on tlie 
unfinished structure, and sliding the otlier end nj) on an 
inclined stick of timber, each timber went into its ]dace, 
and the walls steadily arose until the pen, as it seemed to bo, 
was eight logs high, and just about as many feet from the 
ground. This was the work of days, and the boys snr 
veyed the result of their labors with admiration. 

“Gracious goodness!” exclaimed Arthur, “ we’ve for- 
gotten the doors and windows.” 

“Sure enough,” said Mont, with a comical smile 
“ITow shall we manage to put them in, now that the walla 
are up ? ” 

“Will the whole thing have to come down again?” 
asked the boy anxiously. 

Ili burst out laughing, and said : 

“ Mont knows a thing or two. All we have to do now, 
Arty, is to cut one hole for the door, and a couple more 
for the windows.” 

“ But the logs will all fall out if they are cut in two in 
the middle.” 

“We chink up the logs first, Arty,” explained Mont, 
“so that they cannot fall apart, then we saw out the 
openings.” 

“Where did you learn all that? In Boston?” de- 
manded Arthur. 

“Oh, he’s got a head onto him, he has,” murmured Hi. 
with an admiring look at Mont, who, somehow, was the 
“boss carpenter” of the house in the wilderness. 

Ili, it must be confessed, did not take kindly to house 


HO U8E-DUILDINO, 


223 


building. Ho found the work very “ disagreeable,” as he 
often remarked. He had chopped timber in Sugar Gro^« 
times enough before now ; but this labor lie thought was 
unprofitable. It interfered with mining. He iooked 
longingly at the neglected pans and picks while he was 
hauling logs, hewing timber, and splitting out “ shakes ” 
for the covering of their roof. And one moonlight night, 
Mont, hearing a strange noise outside as he awoke from a 
deep sleep, crept out and saw Hi making a pan of earth 
by the side of the creek, Pete sitting by on his haunches, 
an interested spectator. 

“ Why, what’s the matter. Hi ? ” asked Mont ; “ haven’t 
you done woi-k enough to sleep on ? ” 

Hi looked a little confused and startled, and replied : 

“ ’Pears like 1 couldn’t sleep to-night. 1 dreamed of 
finding a big chunk of gold up there by that there bowl- 
der. So I thought I’d come out and shake the old pan 
for a while.” 

Mont put his hand kindly on the young man’s shoulder 
and said : 

“ My dear old fellow, I am afraid you are getting ava- 
ricious. Don’t let us try to be rich in a hurry. You will 
get sick with overwork and anxiety, and then where are 
you ? ” 

Hi, with a little heat of manner, and growing red in 
the moonlight, said : 

‘‘ I allow my health’s my own. I put my gold into the 
^jmpany, don’t I ? ” 

‘‘ But that isn’t the question, Hi. It makes me sorry to 
see you growing so careworn and old before your time. 
We have a good claim, and nobody can take it from us — ” 

“ I’d like to see ’em try it on ! ” broke in Hi. 

And, as I was saying,” resumed Mont, “ nobody can 


224 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


take It from us. We shall have it in the spring. We 
can live comfortable until then. What’s the use of being 
In a hurry ? ” 

‘‘ What ! ” exclaimed Hi, almost with horror. Knock 
washin’ until spring ? ” Not if I know it 1 ” and he 
elio< k his pan with new energy. 

“ Ilillo 1 what’s up now ? ” and as Barney asked that 
question, he struggled out of the tent, half awake, and 
witli a blanket clinging about him. 

‘‘ Here you, Crogan,” cried Arty from within, “ bring 
back my blanket ! ” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Mont, cheerily ; “only Hi ha. 
had a dream of gold, and he has come out to iind it in liii 
j)am I followed to see it come true.” 

“ Did it come true ? ” asked Barney, grimly. 

“ Not yet.” 

“ And it’s a nice time of night for you to be out here 
washing gold,” said Arty, who had crawled out into the 
moonlight, and was trying to read the time on Barney’s 
wliite-faced watch. “ Past two o’clock, as I live 1 IE 
Fender! you’re as crazy as a loon ! I’m ashamed of ye! ” 

“Well, if you are all going to make a row about it. I’ll 
go back to bed.” And back to bed he went, saying to 
himself, “I allow that Arty’s just about half right, any- 
how.” 

Notwithstanding Hi’s discontent the cabin rose. Light 
spiuce poles formed the rafters of the roof, and these 
wej*e covered with shingles, or “ shakes,” sjdit out from 
the beautiful white pine of the region. Rudely hewn 
timbers supported the floor, which was made of thick, ob- 
long blocks, called “ puncheons,” split from the short 
lengths of oak wliich had been chopped in the forest. A 
hole was cut in the rear, and a huge fire-place of stone wai 


BO U8E-BUILDIN0. 


225 


built in it, with a chimney of bricks piled ” cob-house 
fasliion,” and plastered with mud, leading abov^e the . oof 
Two openings, protected by cloth from their wagon-cover, 
furnished light and air. Boards, sparingly taken from 
their wagon-box, furnished a door and material for a table 
and bench within. The chinks between the logs were 
filled in with sticks, dry grass, and clay. The house was 
done, and Arty, having lettered the name on a s})are scrap 
of canvas, and fastened it to the front of this new castle, 
christened it “ Boston,” amidst the applause of his com- 
rades. Hi meditatively cocked his head on one side and 
said : 

‘‘ I never did like Boston for a name ; but it’s enough 
sight better than Crow bait.” 

While they were yet admiring the general effect of their 
new home, a lame man, wearing a slouched felt hat, a red 
shirt, and a pair of canvas trowsers, slid painfully down 
the bank, dropped his kit of mining tools with a sigh of 
relief, and said : ‘‘Mornin.’” 

Arthur and Tom looked at him with amazement, and 
Barney, with elaborate politeness, said : 

“ Good-morning to you, Mr. William Bunce.” 

“ Knowed you’d know me 1 Yes, I knowed it,” and 
Mr William Bunce rubbed his game leg, as if he thought 
it a great joke. “Fixed up mighty comfortable here. 
D’ye allow to winter here % ” 

“ Yes^ we allow to winter here,” replied Hi, with some 
asperity. “What mischief are you up to now? ” 

“ See here, strannger,” replied Bunce, “ I ain’t up to no 
miscliief, leastways so long as Pm civil spoken to. It's 
the boss of this ranch I want to see — ^Boston, is it ? ” and 
the man looked tniriously at Arty’s sign. “ I was told it 
was Crowbait” 

10 - 


226 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


“ Who told yon it was Crowbait ? ” demanded i5arnard 

“ The man with the go-cart. I disremember his name 
WoDds?’’ 

“ Bush ? ” 

That’s the name. 1 kncwed it war something to dc 
with woods.” 

" Well, what’s your will with ns? ” asked Barnard. 

The man fumbled about his shirt, and took out a buck- 
skin bag, in which was a handful of gold-dust and a 
greasy wad of papej*. Smoothing the paper on his knee, 
he read from it in silence, lifted up his head, and said : 

“ Thar war a man.” 

“ Well,” said Mont, for Bunce had stopped. 

“ Whar’s the kid ? ” he asked. 

“ Wlio? Johnny ? ” 

“ That’s wliat yon call him.” 

Johnny was called from the gulch, where he was ex- 
perimenting with pick and shovel. As soon as he saw 
Bunce he shrunk back and took shelter behind Mont. 
JBnnce grinned and began again : 

Thar war a man. llis name war Jenness, M.D. Least- 
ways, that thar war on his shingle in Lick Springs, Vct- 
million County, Illinoy. He had a winder sister a-livin’ 
in Ogle County, Illinoy, likewise. She up and died, 
leavin’ a little boy. Jenness, M.D., 1 allow he war the 
boy’s gardeen. He got the boy. Now thar war property 
— now much I never heerd tell ; it war the kid’s if lie 
lived, and Jenness’s if he didn’t. Do ye begin to sarvy ? ” 

His listenei-s nodded assent. 

‘‘In course you see, then, that that thar little kid is the 
Doy. Jenness, M.D. — well, he ain’t no doctor, l^^^twaya 
not more’ll a boss doctor — Jenness, he tole me and Epb 
Mullet, if we’d take the boy, like we war agoin’ to Cali 


HOUSE-BUILDING, 221 

forijy, and get shut of him somehow, he’d gin us our out 
fit. So he did.” 

“ And you got your California outfit for promising to 
make away with this boy, did you?” asked Mont, with a 
filiudder. 

“That’s about the size of it. But, mind je, wo only 
got part of the outfit ; it war only a matter of a hundred 
ilollars or so. There war two of us.” 

“ The smaller the price, the meaner you were,” ex- 
claimed Barney, with a great glow of indignation. 

“Thar wan’t no crime. Ton’s the kid; I’ve nothin’ 
ag’in’ him. He’s alive and kickin’ ; but Jenness, M.D., 
he thinks he’s dead.” 

“ Can you give us any clue by which we can ascertain 
this boy’s parentage ? ” asked Mont. 

“ Which ? ” said the man, with a vacant stare. 

“ Can you tell us how we can find out the boy’s real 
name, and the names of his father and mother?” 

“ All I know is — Jenness, M.D., Lick Springs, Vermil- 
lion County, Illinoy. Kid’s mother was in Ogle County, 
some such name as Brownbecker — ” 

“ Bluebaker 1 ” exclaimed Hi. 

“ You’ve struck it, strannger. Bluebaker is the word. 1 
kiiow’d it had a blue or a brown onto it.” 

More than this they could not extract from Bunce. 
His information was limited, or he was determined to tell 
no nioie. Here was enough to begin an inquiry upon, at 
any late. Johnny had never heard the name of Blue- 
baker. He had been called “ Johnny ” always. He was 
not at all moved when Arty said that he might become 
heir to sometliing handsome, by and by. 

Bunce listened to the questions and comments ot the 
party, and then began again. 


THE DOT EMIO RANTS, 


228 

That war a boss,” 

lie paused, but nobody made reply, and Le went (»n : 

‘‘ A yaller boss.” 

A sorrel,” corrected Barney, ‘‘ with araw-bide braided 
baiter about his neck.” And here be drew that article oi 
horse-gear from a heap of stuff on the ground. 

The man’s eyes flashed recognition when be saw the 
riata, and Barnard continued : 

“ This was on the sorrel horse wliich was ridden into our 
camp near Thousand Spring Valley, and the man that 
was shot off that horse liad another just like it around our 
old Jim’s neck. He was a horse-thief.” 

The man never winced. He said, “ Strannger, that yaller 
boss war mine.” 

‘HIow came he in our camj) ? ” 

“ He war stole from me in Eclio Canon. I tracked him 
into Salt Lake City ; thar I lost him.” 

How did you know we knew anything about him ? ” 
asked Mont. 

The man turned uneasily on the stump where he sat 
and said, “ The go-caii; man told me you had a yaller 
boss.” 

“ So we had.” 

“ Had 

‘‘ Yes^ had^^ answered Barney, impatiently. “ TIiat 
yellow horse, as you call him, was drowned in Seven Mile 
Canon on the day of the great cloud-bust.” 

The man slowly, as if in a deep thought, rolled up his 
greasy and crumpled paper, put it in his buckskin poucli, 
drew the strings tight, put it in his bosom, stood up and 
said : 

“ Powerful nice weather we’re havin’ now. Sure aboifl 
that yaller boss ? ” 


H0U8E-BUILDIN0. 220 

‘‘Sure. He was drowned with half of Rose’s cattle,’* 
laid Mont 

The man turned to go, gathering up his pack with an 
air of deep dejection. 

“ Give us that paper 1 ” said Arty, eagerly. 

‘‘ Oh, yes, let us have the memorandum,” said Mont 
“ It will help us find out what we want to know about 
Johnny.” 

“ It’s got writiii’ onto the other side of it,” said Bill 
Bunce. ** IVivate writin’ that I can’t spare to give away. 
Write down what I’ve told ye — Jeniiess, M.D., Lick 
Springs, Vermillion County, Illinoy. Kid’s mother was 
a Brownpecker. Ogle County, likewise.” • 

And that’s the way you leave this matter, after you 
have confessed that you agreed, for money, to put this 
little chap out of the way,” said Barney, bitterly. 

The man turned and looked at him with a dim gleam 
of fire in liis bleary eye, and said, “ What are ye goin’ to 
do about it ? ” 

So saying, he stumped along the trail, perpetually roll- 
ing over on one side, as if to pick up something whi3h ho 
as continually changed his mind not to take. And so he 
rocked irresolutely out of sight 


THIS BOY EMIBRANTB. 


2W 


CILAPTER XXL 

AN EXPEDITION, AND WHAT CAME CP TT, 

"WiNTEB came suddenly. Early in Noveir.bcr, the boys, 
climbing the long hill near their camp, could see that the 
sharp peaks of the Sierra, to the eastward, were covered 
with snow. The lower hills, or foot-hills, where they lived, 
were brown and sere ; and looking westward, the Sacra- 
mento Valley was golden jellow in the warm sunlight, or 
violet and purple, streaked with gray, as the cloudy days 
canie on. There were one or two rainy days, during which 
the creek rose rapidly, and the young miners improved 
the opportunity to wash out a good deal of loose dirt from 
their claim. Then came a sharp frost. The hills between 
tl\e camp and the high Sierra were white with snow, save 
where the tall pines stood in solemn rows up and down 
these billowy slopes. 

One morning, Arthur, shivering with cold and gaping 
with a great show of sleepiness, sat up in his bunk, and 
looking over tc the window, which was only partly sliield- 
cd by a hit of canvas, exclaimed: “Ilalloo, boys! it’s 
enowi gl’^ 

'J'hoy K>3ked out and saw that the ground had disappeared 
ocncath a soft, fleecy mantle. Woolly rolls of snow liung 
oi\ the edges of the cradle by the creek. The pine-boughs 
bent under their moist burden, and the cow stood chewing 
her cud disconsolately under the shelter of a big hemlock 
tiee near the cabin. 


AN EXPEDITION 231 

Mont looked grave, and said: “ I must start for Nj’c’a 
Ranch this very day.” 

Now Nyc’s Ranch was at the junction of the Yuba and 
Feather rivers, fifty miles away. It was the nearest depot 
for supplies, though a trading-post had been opened at 
Inskip, twenty miles north-east from Crowbait Gulch. 
But tlie Inskip trader brought his goods from Nye’s Ranch, 
and liis prices were enormous. Besides this, the company of 
Mexicans at Greasertown had promised to pay three hun- 
dred dollars, in gold dust, for the ox and cow, the survivors 
of the teams of the young emigrants ; and part of tlie bar- 
gain included the delivery of the cattle to the purchasers. 

It had been agreed that Mont should gotoNye’s Ranch, 
riding old Jim, and deliver the cattle at Greasertown on 
his way down. The Spanish cattle of the country were 
thought good enough to slaughter for fresli beef. Ameri- 
can cattle were too valuable to be killed. It was more 
economical to sell them and buy the meat needed for win- 
ter supplies. Flour, bacon, beans, and dried apples were 
required from Nye’s Ranch ; and it was decided that nc 
more time should be lost in getting them. Mont could 
di'ive the cattle down the creek and get the money and 
push on into the valley, buy the provisions, and pack them 
home on old Jim. 

The snow disappeared before the sun when it came out, 
that afternoon ; and when Mont started on his journey, 
which was not until the next morning, the air was clear 
and bracing, and the sky was brilliant with sunlight. The 
boys saw him ride down the winding trail with real sor- 
row, for ho drove before him their old friends, Molly and 
Star. These faithful creatures had been their sole reliance 
during the latter part of their journey; and tliough the 
cattle were no longer useful to them, now that they were 


2o2 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


camped for the winter, it was hard to part with them. If it 
had not been hard, Mont would have begun his jourr ey to 
Nye’s Ranch much earlier. As it was, Arty and Johnny 
looked down the trail with tearful eyes, when Mont, turn- 
ing in his saddle, shouted back : “ Don’t eat up all the 
gold while 1 am gone.” 

Even Mont was a little heavy at the heart when he finally 
left the cattle at Greasertown, and rode away with his gold 
dust stowed in a belt about his waist and under his flannel 
shirt. He had a long and solitary ride before him ; he was 
loaded with what seemed to him a great deal of money, 
and, for the first time since leaving Council Bluffs^ he was 
separated from his comrades. 

The rocky trail soon left the creek and entered a wagon- 
tj*ack, which, though it now seemed like a novelty of 
civilization to Mont, who had been living in the woods, 
was not so broad a trail as that in which he had traveled 
across the continent. Ilis spirits rose as old Jim loped 
gallantly on the trail, jingling the slender camp e([nipage 
tied behind the saddle, as lie went. The air was abso- 
lutely hushed, and the wintry sun rained down its needles 
of light into motionless clumps of pines and spruces 
grouped in the narrow valle 3 \ On eitlier side the hills 
rose up sharp and clear in outline against the sky, their 
rocky ridges dotted with a few trees along their lofty 
crowns. Occasionally a hare darted across the trail and 
was lost in the tangled ferns, or a gray gopher, with tail 
on end, drifted along ahead, like a leaf blown by the 
wind, and suddenly disappeared. A blue jay screamed 
and scolded from the tall top of a madrona tree, and a 
solitary crow, flapping its way through the crystal atmos- 
phere overhead, croaked and cawed, and then seemed tc 
melt away into the hills of I rown and green. 


AN EXPEDITION. 


233 


Just before Scotchmairs Valley opens oat into the val- 
ley of the Sacramento, the walls on either side rise up to a 
great height. On the south the ridge is over two thousand 
feet high, and is very steep and rugged, except at a poin 
near tJie base, where the sharp descent widens out into a 
shoulder, or bench. On this bench, about two hundred 
feet from the bottom, were perched two or three mineis’ 
cabins. Mont, when he reached this spot, looked at the 
/jabiiis as he rode down the trail, and, wondering why the 
builders had chosen such a lofty spot for their homes, was 
tempted to climb the narrow trail and ask for lodging for 
the night, for it was now late in the day. But, reflecting 
that people in these parts were unprepared to talve in 
strangers, though all were hospitable, he went on through 
the nari’ow pass, entered a round, flat valley which 
dropped gently to the west, and, between the openings in 
the groves of live-oaks he saw the Sacramento Valley, 
laced with streams ; Sutter’s Buttes, a nol)le group of 
mountains, in the midst ; and far away the sharp summits 
of the coast range, j'ink and white against the evening 
sky. 

The young man made his lonely camp in a clump of 
dwarf pines, as night came on, and built his tire, toasted 
his bacon, made a }K)t of coffee, and, slicing off a cut 
fiom the loaf wliich careful Arthur had put up for him. 
he ate his fj’ugal sujjper, with loving thoughts of the bo^^s 
at home. The New England home seemed too far away 
Vi 'jw to be so much in his thoughts as the rude hut on the 
brink of Chaparral Creek ; and as Mont hugged himself 
in his warm blanket, to sleep bem; ii the frosty sky, 
Harney Crogan, Hi, and the boys came and went in hia 
dreams. 

Following the course cf the Feather and Yuba rivera, 


THE BOY EMI0RANT3. 


2ai 

the streams of trade and travel, which had already begun 
to move in this new land, met on a flat and willow^grown 
angle where Nye’s Ranch had been built. Here the Rio 
de las riiimas, or Feather River, received the Vuba 
River, and flowed on to join the Sacramento. Here, 
once a week, came a small steamboat from Sacramento, 
Bcn e lifty or sixty miles to the southward ; and here were 
two or thi-ee trading-posts, built of sycamore logs and 
roofed over with canvas. 

Mont had struggled across a wet and muddy plain, in- 
tersected with a labyrinth of small sloughs and streams. 
He found the little settlement a rude and noisy place. 
The ground was cut up with the tracks of many wagons, 
and trampled into a sticky paste by the feet of innumer- 
able mules, whose braying filled the air. Miners, red- 
shirted and rough-bearded, were coming and going. The 
traders were excitedly rushing about, selling their goods 
and sweeping in the gold-dust. This precious stuff was 
weighed in scales^ after being rudely fingered over on the 
board coui\ter, to scan the grains separately ; and Mont 
was amazed to see how carelessly the gold was handled. 
Apparently, there was no coin or paper money, but every- 
body had a buskskin pouch or a canvas shot-bag, in which 
the golden dust was kept. Now and again some man 
from ‘‘ the Bay,” as San Francisco was called, exhibited a 
huge rude coin, valued at fifty dollars, and populaily 
known as a “ slug.” This was stamped with the name of 
the firm who issued it, and very readily passed for th« 
amount it represented. 

The little plaza, about which the settlement was flung 
like a strange and tangled dream, was crowded with men, 
wagons, cattle and mules. A few miserable Indians, 
squatted around a big sycamore, looked on without mani 


AN EXPEDITION, 


235 


foBting the least interest in the scene ; and a grizzly bear, 
caged in a canvas-covered inclosure, or corral, and ex- 
liibited for one dollar a sight, added to the confusion by 
uttering an occasional howl. A tent, with ‘‘ Freeman’s 
Express ” painted on its roof, first attracted Mont’s atten- 
tion, and to that ho straightway bent his steps. Tlie boys 
had sent letters down to Sacramento by various ways, aiid 
Mont now deposited another lot, one of whicli, written to 
Farmer Stevens, in Richardson, Illinois, gave him the 
points of Bill Bunco’s story about Johnny, and besought 
him to look up the case, if possible. 

The tent was crowded with men inquiring for ‘‘letters 
from the States.” There was no post-oflico here, but fhe 
accommodating expressman, in consideration of a few 
dollars’ worth of dust, would take a list of names, send it 
to San F rancisco, and bring up the letters of people who 
made Nye’s Ranch their trading-point. Miners far back 
among the hills sent to the Ranch by their comrades or 
nearest neighbors, and, in course of time, their precious 
letters, sifting through many hands, sought them out, and 
brought them tidings from home. 

There were no letters for the boys at Crowbait. They 
had expected none, as their list of names had been sent to 
Sacramento. With a homesick and lonely feeling, Mont 
made his purchases as soon as possible, loaded tliem on 
old .1 im, and made his way out of tlie muddy and dis- 
agreeable little settlement. The sky was dark and lower- 
ing, and the sharp white peaks of the Sierra w<*j*e lost in 
a gray mist, as he laboriously picked his way across the 
plain and camped for the night with a hospitable terds- 
man on the edge of Butte Creek. 

When he resumed his journey, next day, the an was 
raw and chilly ; a slate-colored cloud closed over tl « 


236 


THE BOY EMT0RANT8. 


foot hills, and a mild but exasperating drizzle pervaded 
the j)laiQ as he left it and began to ascend the ucdulationi 
which here seem like a ground-swell, and, higher up, break 
into the tumultuous waves of the Sierra. 

Mont pushed on impatiently, riding when the trail waa 
easy, and leading his loaded steed where the way was 
steep and rough. Both horse and man were in haste to 
get home. Mont grew feverish and apprehensive as ho 
saw the snow beginning to fall heavily, while he was yet 
only on his second day from Kye’s Ranch. And when he 
camped that night in the manzanita bushes, it was with 
great difficulty that he could kindle a fire. But he found 
a partly screened spot, where the snow sifted lightly in, 
and wliere he could camp in comparative comfort. eTim 
was relieved of his load, and tied in a clump of trees 
which sheltered him ; and Mont slept as best he could, 
and tills was not sleeping well. His feet were sore with 
the chafing of a pair of new boots, put on when he left 
the trading post, and now soaked with melting snow. 

Next day, after Jim had browsed among the bushes, 
and Mont had swallowed a little hot coffee, they struggled 
on together, though the horse was now obliged to wallow 
in a deep mass of snow, and Mont desperately kept up by 
his side. 

Passing laboriously through the round valley where he 
had made liis first night’s camp, Mont entered the rocky 
jaws of Scotchman’s Valley. The day was well advanced, 
but the sky was dark with storm. Overhead, the air waa 
thick as with a drifting whirl of snow. The black -green 
trees by the trail were half hidden and loaded with the 
snow. All trace of the route had vanished from the 
ground, and only a few landmarks, which Mont’s prao 
tised eye had noted as he rode down the trail, served tc 




4 







r 


I 



i 


I 






« 


I 





I 



» 



( 


4 


♦ 


i ‘ .V •. 

^ • f 

• r 


« I 

I 




I 


I 







AN EXPEDITION. 


237 


show the way in which he should go. There was the 
high, steep southern wall of the canon, and there were the 
three cabins on the bench below the upper edge. l*oor 
Mont noted in the blinding storm the blue smoke curling 
from the chimneys of the cabins, and he longed to be by 
the cheei’ful fireside which he pictured to himself was 
witiiin. Like showers of feathers, moist and large, the 
flakes fell, and fell continually. Mont’s feet were wet 
and sore and lame. Once and again he paused in his 
struggles and eyed the dismal sight around him, half- won- 
dering if he should ever get through. The hapless horse 
panted beneath his burden, groaning as his master dragged 
him on through the drifts. Once, Mont, with numb 
fingers, untied the thongs that bound part of the load ; 
then, passionately crying aloud, “ No ! no ! I can’t lose 
these provisions I ” he made them fast again and labored 
onward. 

He was now well up the canon. Just 0])posite him 
were the cabins, and, as he looked up at them, the air 
began to clear. The snow fell only in scattered flakes, 
and the clouds showed signs of breaking away. Before 
him, however, the way looked even more hopeless than 
ivlien it had been concealed by the falling storm. Be- 
hind, a few ragged, fading tracks showed where man and 
horse had struggled on in the drift. 

Suddenly, a low and far-off moan broke on the deathly 
stillness of the air. Mont, scared and half-delirious with 
excitement and fatigue, looked u]) towards the soutliern 
wall of the defile. The mountain-top seemed to be un- 
loosed and falling over into the valley. The whole side 
of the ridge appeared broken off, and as it glided swiftly 
down, Mont noted with fascinated minuteness of observa 
tion, that a broad brown furrow showed behind it where 


238 


THB BOT EMIO RANTS. 


the ea rth was laid bare. Down rushed the mighty ava* 
lanche. The whole defile seemed to shut up like the ccveri 
of a book. In a twinkling the three poor little cabina 
were wiped out as with a wet sponge. The pallid mass 
swept on with a roar, its huge arms flying up towards 
the skies. It was not so much a wall of snow as a resist- 
less torrent, broad and deep. The young man stood still, 
his heart ceased to beat ; yet he stood and gazed, unable 
to flee, as the avalanche thundered down from bench to 
bench, struck the bottom of the cafion, and spread out in 
a confused mass of whiteness. In an instant, horse and 
man vanished in a waste of snow. The narrow valley 
was filled, and only here and thero, where an uprooted 
tree or a fragment of a wrecked cabin showed above the 
snow, was there anything to break the utter desolation. 


PRIVATION AND DELIVERANCE. 


239 


CHAPTER XXn. 

PRIVATION AND DELIVERANCE, 

** I ALLOW this is dreffle disagreeable,” said Hi. “ Moiit’fl 
been gone eight days ; nothin’ in the house to eat, and no 
neighbors within ten miles, so far’s we know.” 

‘‘ And I’m powerful hungry,” chimed in Tom, who never 
missed an opportunity to make a complaint. 

“ I wouldn’t mind,” said Arty, once more going to the 
door and looking down the snow-covered trail. “ 1 
wouldn’t mind, if we only knew Mont was safe some- 
where.” 

Barney grumbled and said that it served them right for 
letting Mont go down into tlie valley alone. They were 
fools, he thought, for having stayed so high up among the 
mountains during the winter. If they had gone out when 
Mont went to Nye’s Ranch, and had stayed out, they never 
should have seen any snow. There was no snow in the 
valley ; and miners were “ making money hand over fist ” 
down on the Ameilcan and the Stanislaus rivei-s. 

“ Yes, yer hindsight is fust-rate, Grogan ; but I wouldn’t 
give much for yer foresight,” snarled Hi, who was chafing 
under this long and enforced idleness. 

Barney, without a word, took his gun and went out in 
the snow to hunt rabbits. There was neither flour nor 
meat in the cabin ; but there was a plenty of coffee, some 
sugar, and a few beans. There was /o immediate danger 
of starvation. Even at the woi*st, a few rabbits and 


3M 


!2IJS BCT EMIORANTS. 


squirrels could be snared or shot in the underbrush ; and 
Arty had found that by crushing the dry berries of the 
nianzanita, which still hung on the bushes, a very palatable 
sort of flour could be made. Barnard announced his in 
tention of starving before he would eat such a mess, 
chough Arthur argued that the Indians ate it and grew fat 
on it. 

But I’m not a Digger,” was his brother’s conclusive 
answer. ‘‘ I’ll starve first.” 

Matters looked even worse and more gloomy, four days 
after, when there was still no sign of Mont, Three of the 
boys, Hi, Barnard, and Arthur, went down the trail as far 
as Greasertown, anxiously looking for traces of their ab- 
sent comrade. Greasei town was deserted. The six Mexi- 
cans who had lived there had packed up their light 
luggage and gone to parts unknown. On the raftei'S of 
their solitary cabin were placed two rude jig-saws, showing 
that the men intended to return. Drifts of snow wei*e on 
the puncheon floor, and the wind siglied mournfully 
through the half -chinked walls of the log cabin. A lone- 
some-looking chipmunk gazed at the intruders, as he sat 
upright in the window-sill ; then he uttered a little ex- 
•clarnation of disgust and disappeared. 

^"er might have shot him,” mutterd Hi, as ho took up 
» junk bottle which had been used for a candlestick, and 
thoughtfully put his nose to its mouth. 

‘‘ AVhat does it smell cf ? ” asked Barnard, with some 
8har])nes8. 

“ Don’t know,” replied Hi. “ I was a-thinkin’ that I 
might eat this ’ere taller droppings, if the mice hadn’t 
been before me.” 

Jlarney laughed, in spite of himself. 

‘ Why, Hi, we are not so badly off as all that comes to 


PRIVATION AND DELIVERANCE. 


241 


yet We needn’t eat tallow candles, like the Esquimaux. 
We can live on rabbits, you know.” 

‘‘ There’s no fat on rabbits, and I must say I’m just 
a-pinin’ for somethin’ fat,” rejoined poor Hi. 

They had not even candles in their own cabin ; but as 
they sat that night around the cheerful blaze of their fire, 
Hi acknowledged that it was far better to have fat pine 
knots to burn than fat candles to eat. 

After all, the great burden on their spirits was Mont’s 
mysterious absence. If they could only be stire that he 
was safe and well, they would be happy. At least, that 
was what Barnard and Arthur said, over and over again. 

‘‘ How much money did Mont have, all told ? ” de 
manded Hi. 

“ Let’s see,” said Arty, reckoning on his fingers ; “ there 
was the three hundred he got for the cattle, one hundred 
you gave him to send home for you, two hundred Barney 
and I sent off by him, and two hundred of his own for his 
mother. Why, that’s eight hundred dollars altogether 1 ” 

“ Eight hundred dollars wuth of dust, and a hoss wuth 
nigh onto two hundred more, if he is old Crowbait. That’s 
a good haul.” 

“ What do you mean, Hi?” demanded Barney, starting 
up with an angry face. 

What do I mean ? ” replied the other doggedly. ‘‘ I 
mean that it’s a good haul for a feller to get away with. 
That’s what I mean.” 

“ Do you mean to insinuate that Mont has gone off with 
our property, you confounded sneak?” and Barney ad- 
vanced toward Hi with sparkling eyes. 

“I don’t mean to insinerwate nothin’ agin’ nobcdy, 
Barney Grogan. So keep yer temper. Ye’ll nee: it 
bumbye to keep from starvin’. If some highway robber 


242 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


has coiralled Mont with his dust, tJiat would be a good 
haul for somebody, wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ But there are no highway robbers about these parts. 
We have never heard of anything being stolen anywhere, 
though people leave their stuff lying around loose every* 
where.” 

Nevertheless, as Barney said this, he sat down with a 
sore feeling in his heart. After all, they did not know 
much about Mont. The old joke about his “ store clothes” 
was still a tender subject in the camp, and Ili’s unworthy 
suspicions found a lodgment in Barney’s mind, though his 
eyes filled with angry teai-s when he tried to think better 
of his old comrade. lie struggled weakly against the 
cruel thoughts that rose in his mind. Then he reflected 
that the spare and unnatural diet to which they had been 
confined lately had reduced the moral tone of the camp. 
The young fellow rose and looked vacantly out of the little 
loop-hole in their canvas-covered window. The prospect 
without was not cheerful. The river was frozen over; 
the ground was white, and the sky was gray. 

Oh, well,” said Arty, cheerily, “ Mont is sure to come 
back. lie’s snow-bound, somewhere, I’m sure. Perhaps 
old Jim gave out, and he had to lie by somewhere until 
he got better.” 

‘‘ Pr^haps,” said Hi, with a marked emphasis. 

And then,” went on the boy, without noticing lli’a 
interruption, “ we are bound to get through tliis somehow. 
As Mont used to say, 1 feel it in my bones.” 

Yes,” said Tom, with scorn ; “ more bones than 
meat.” 

‘‘Shut yer mouth, you Toml” broke :n his brothei, 
angrily. 

“ Besides,” added Arty “ mother useu to say ” — and 


phiva tion a nd velivehangb. 24 I 

the boy’s roice quavered a little — that the Lord will 
provide.” 

1 don’t know,” said Barney, gloomily, from the window. 
“ It seems as if the Lord had gone oif.” 

Arthur gave his brother a scared look, and remon- 
sti-ated, with tears in his eyes, “ Oli, don’t, Barney I ” 

That night, for almost the fiftieth time since Mont had 
keen gone, Hi lifted the puncheons of tlie floor in one 
corner of the cabin, scraped away the soil, and dragged 
out the can of gold dust which formed tlie common stock. 
He smoothed it over, lovingly, in his hands, and let it 
drop back into the can with a sharp rattle. 

“ It’s a heap of money,” he said, with a sigh. ’T would 
buy a farm in Illinoy.” 

‘‘ But it won’t buy a pound of side-meat in Crowbait 
briilch,” said Barney, with some ill-humor. 

“ Nary time,” re 2 )lied Hiram. “ What’s the use of gold 
if yer can’t buy nothin’ with it? Yer can’t eat it, can’t 
drink it, can’t wear it ” — and, as if trying the experiment, 
he took up a bright lump and bit it. “ Blame the con- 
temptible yaller stuff ! ” said Hi, with a sudden bui’st of 
rage. “ What’s the good of it now ? ” — and he tossed it 
into the fire. 

The golden nugget struck the back of the fireplace 
and dropped into the blaze, as if astonished at its rude 
treatment. 

Arty, with much concern, attempted to poke it out, but 
Barnard said : 

‘‘ Let it be ; you can poke it out to-morrow, when Hi 
and the ashes have Inoth cooled off.” 

Johnny, from his bunk, had looked on this curious scene 
with much amazement. He did not exactly understand 
why Hi, who usually was the greediest for gold, should 


244 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


now throw a piece into the fire. Then, why did he bitxj 
at it ? He might have known tliat gold was not g(M >d to eak 
ana he had no business to throw it away like tliat when 
he Imnd that he could not bite it. Then the lad reinem* 
bered Mont’s last words, “ Don’t eat up all the gold whilg 
I am gone I ” It was very strange. So, thinking of Mont, 
and wondering if he would ever come back again, Johnny 
turned his face against the rough wall of the cabin and 
softly cried himself to sleep. 

Next day, the sun rose so brightly and so clear that the 
little valley was deluged with an intense brightness almost 
painful to the eyes. Barnard awoke, and sitting up in 
his bunk, half-wondered what it was that had troubled 
him so much when he went to sleep. Then he suddenly 
remembered the privations and dangers of their situation ; 
and he took up his burden of anxiety with a dull feeling 
of pain. 

Arthur was already punching up the embers, and, with 
a little laugh, he poked out the lump of gold which Hi 
had tossed there the night before. “ Ouch 1 ” he 
exclaimed, as he dropped it on the floor, it’s hot as 
blazes I ” 

“ Hard to get and hard to hold,” remarked Barnard, 
soberly. 

As the young miners gathered about tlieir scanty break 
fast, Johnny reminded them of Mont's last words about 
eating the gold. 

“That was Mont’s joke,” said Barney; “but he little 
thought how neaj* we should come to having nothing but 
that stuff to eat.” 

Just then there w as a sound outside, as of trampling iq 
the snow. 

What’s that ? ” cried Hi. 


PRIVATION AND DELIVERANCE. 245 

‘‘ Grizzlies ! ” shrieked Tom ; and everj^body rushed to 
the door. 

It was like a message from an outer and fai*-olf world, 
in that solitary wilderness. As the}’’ Hung wide open the 
door, there was Mont, limping along with a sack of flour 
on his back, and behind him was Messer with another 
burden. Mont looked pale and worn, but he cried out, 
cheerily : 

Halloo ! Crowbaits I ” 

His comrades crowded about him to relieve him of his 
load, shake his hands, and ask all manner of questions. 
All but Hi, who, with a great gulp, sat down on a bench 
and broke into tears. The other boys, though with moist- 
ened eyes and tender hearts, in this hour of their deliver- 
ance, looked upon the tearful Hi with real amazement. 

“ Wliat’s the matter, Hi ? ” asked Mont, kindly putting 
his arm on Hi’s shoulder. 

‘‘I didn’t allow I was so powerful weak,” blubbered 
the poor fellow. “ 1 must have been hungry, and, besides, 
I’m so glad you’ve got back, you can’t tliink.” 

Barnard’s face clouded for a moment, as he remembered 
Hiram’s suspicions. But Hi added: 

“ And 1 thought hard of you, too. Don’t lay it up agin 
me ! ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Mont. So long as you ai e all alive, I am 
thankful and happy. ‘ Here we are again, Mr. Merry man,’ 
as the circus-man says,” and the young fellow gayly shipped 
Arty’s back. 

But Mont was not in very good case, and when he told 
his story, they marvelled much that he was alive. The ava- 
lanche in Scotchman’s Valley had swept down the miners’ 
cabins, but, fortunately, the only man in either of them 
ha.1 heard the hum of the slide as it came . Running out 


246 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


he dashed into a tunnel in the rear of the cabin, where hii 
comrades were at work, just in time to escape the flying 
mass wliich swept down the hill-side and into the gulch 
oelow. Their cabins were gone, but they were alive, and 
thankfully they set themselves to recovering whatever waa 
left of the wreck. 

A. dark spot on the tumultuous surface of the snow 
atti’acted their attention. It was a horse’s head. 

“ Thar must be a man whar thar’s a boss, you bet,” was 
the sage remark of one of them. So, leaving their own 
affairs, the men worked manfully until they had dug out old 
Jim, for it was he — dead in the snow. Anxiously, the good 
fellows plied their shovels until Mont, insensible and 
nearly suffocated, was dragged out to the light, lie was 
carried up to the tunnel, where a fire, chafing, and some 
hot coffee, recalled him to consciousness. But his mind 
wandered, and he could give no satisfactory account of 
liimsclf. 

“ Must be one of them Boston fellers up to Crowbait, 
just this side of Forty Thieves,” muttered one of the party. 
“ He looks too high-toned for one of the Forty Thieves 
folks. Besides, they all left a fortnight ago ; and what’s he 
a-doin’ down here ? ” And the puzzled miner scratched 
his head. 

Mont could only murmur, “ Don’t eat all the gold iip I” 

Out of the wreck of their cabins the miners soon recon- 
structed a ojinfortable shelter. Mont’s provisions were 
nearly all found and put by for him ; and his rescuers 
made him, and themselves, as comfortable as possible 
under the circumstances. 

When the young man, after a day or two, was able to 
sit up and tell who he was and where he came from, he 
found himself so weak and lame that he could not travel 


PRIVATION AND DELIVERANCE. 


247 


lie moaned over this, for he was filled with alarm for hia 
comrades, waiting at home for food. More than a week 
was already gone, and his feet were yet so sore that it was 
impossible for him to move. He rnmt go, if he had to 
crawl. The boys would starve. 

His new friends tried to persuade him that his “pard- 
ners ” would be able to get along on the game of the re- 
gion, and that it was more necessary for him to get well 
than for him to take food to them. Mont fretted, and con- 
tinually fixed his gaze on the narrow canon entrance 
through which he must struggle on to Crowbait. 

One day, while looking wistfully out over the gulch, he 
saw the well-known slouchy figure of Messer crossing on 
the snow, now fast melting away. Messer was loaded with 
pick, pan, and “grub. ” He had left his wife at French- 
man’s Misery, down the valley, and had come uj) to join 
an old acquaintance in the hill diggings, where Mont was 
now confined against his will. 

It was a fortunate meeting. Honest Messer said : “ You 
uns was kind to we uns on the plains. I’ll pack you clean 
up to Chaparral, if that’ll do you any good.” 

Mont protested that he could walk ; but he should be 
glad for some assistance with his load. Messer expressed 
a willingness to carry Mont and all the goods and provi- 
sions which poor old Jim had so far brought. So, after 
one more day’s rest, the two men set out with as much of 
the stuff as they could carry. The trail was difficult, but 
they managed to reach Greasertown at the end of their 
first day. Here they camped in the deserted cabin, and 
next day, bright and early in the moi*ning, they pushed 
on to Crowbait. Mont had hoped to surprise the l>oy8. 
But when he drew near, and none came to meet him, hie 
heart sank. There was no sign of life when ho came in 


248 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


Bight of the cabin. The sun was up, but no smoke iss led 
from the rude chimney. 

Have they become discouraged and gone away ? ” he 
asked himself, with growing alarm. Tnen a pale blue 
wreath of smoke curled up from the chimney. “ That’s 
Arty I God bless the boy ! ” murmured Mont to himself. 

Now he heard voices wdthin, and the door opened. Ho 
was at home at last. All was well. 

‘‘ It was a tight squeak you uns had of it,” remarked 
Messer, solemnly. 

Harney, standing behind Arthur, affectionately put his 
hands on the lad’s shoulders, and said; 

But this little chap reminded us that the Lord would 
provide.” 


LVCK IN STREAKS. 


24S 


CHAPTEE XXIII. 

LUCK m STREAKS. 


Moni did not readily recover from bis sickness. Dur- 
ing the remainder of tliat winter, which yet had many 
privations in store for them, he was infirm in health. 
The boys had anxious hours and days. There was no 
physician in the region ; their own slender stock of medi- 
cines was not of much avail in a case of serious sickness 
like this; and more than once the tender-hearted Barney, 
who could not endure the sight of his comrade suffering 
witiiout remedy, went hastily out among tlie snow-covered 
hiiie, and, in the death-like waste of the forest, tried to 
find relief for his pent-up and sorrowful feelings. 

it was not until the snow had melted, the wild geese 
had begun to clamor in the sky, and the ripple of the 
creek along its pebbly bars was heard once more, that 
Mont fairly recovered. The log cabin was continually 
damp, and as little sunshine could pour into it through 
the winter, it was not a good place for a sick man. But 
when the doors and windows were thrown open wide, and 
the warm rays of the early California spring fiooded the 
little house with sunlight, the invalid recovered rapidly, 
and the shadow of a great trouble passed away from the 
household. 

With the re-opening of the trails came new and old 
accpiaintanccs. Almost before the snow had melted from 
tlie mountains above them, prospectors came 


250 


THE HOT EMIQ HANTS. 


through the hills for gold. Many of these were newly 
arrived in the country, and they had already begun tc 
think that the gold of the lower valleys was ‘‘ played out,” 
and that the precious stuff must be sought higher up in 
the Sierra. Nevertheless, all of these had gold dust with 
them, which they handled as carelessly as if it had l)o(ui 
common dirt. Each man carried a little pair of scales 
about liim, with which he weighed the ore when he bought 
or sold anything ; for, as yet, there was no coin and no 
other currency than this. With these emigrants, too, 
came all sorts of queer contrivances for separating gold 
f/om the earth in which it was found. Machines invented 
in “ the States,’’ or on board ship, b}' men who had never 
seen the mines, were carefully brought up to the diggings 
at great expense, and then thrown away. After all, the 
cradle, or rocker, was the best, simplest, and chea})est 
gold-separator then known. It could be carried on a 
mule’s back, or a stout man could easily pack it on his 
own back, from place to place. So, in due time, the 
trails to the mines were strewed with the useless contriv- 
ances for mining, which were discarded for the homely 
and labor-saving cradle. 

With the spring, too, came news from Iiome. Some of 
their neighbors at Forty Thieves brought up a package of 
priceless letters from Sacramento for the boys. Bai-nard 
and Arthur did not think live dollars too much to j>ay 
for a fat envelope from Sugar Grove; for that packet 
contained a wonderful letter of many pages, in whicli 
father, mother, sister, and each one of the brothers had 
written something. It was a marvellous juoduction, 
written dining the early winter evenings, and the twc 
boys lead it over and over again with almost tearfiu 
delight. It seemed strange to read in those distant soli 


LUCIC IN 8TREAK8. 


251 


Hides ot the white calf which had been born to Daisy, 
and of the marvellous crop of bell flower apples ’ast year* 
Barnard put down the closely written pages which told 
him how the wheat crop had turned out in the ten- acre 
lot, how the pigs had been sold to Jim Van Orman, and 
I low Jedediah Page was married to Dully Oliver, and 
l^atlier Dixon had been presented with a gold-headed 
cane by the citizens of the town. As the boy looked 
away from these simple annals of his far-off home into 
the trackless forests which clothed the flanks of the Sierra 
Nevada, he seemed as one in a dream, lie was obliged 
to look about him to be sure that he was in California 
and not in Illinois. The picture of the old homestead at 
Sugar Grove, the red barn, the well-sweep, the family 
about the big kitchen-table, and the neighbors dropping 
in to chat, now seemed something that existed in some 
other world than this. 

Hi and Tom also had their budget of home news, 
which was none the less welcome, probably, because the 
handwriting was rugged, and because, as Hi expressed it, 
the dingy letter-paper smelt confoundedly of terbacker- 
Binoke.” Old man Fender and his wife dearly loved a 
pipe when any serious business, like that of letter-writing, 
was in hand. 

Mont went away by himself to read his long, long 
lcttei*s from Cambridgeport. He had two sets of these — 
ore in the stately, erect handwriting of his mother, and 
the other crowded full of fine hair-lines, expressing, 
doubtless, very comfortable sentiments, for the boys 
observed that Mont improved in spirits whenever he read 
these. The young man was always light-hearted, as of 
old. 

“ 1 wouldn’t mind giving you a bit of one of onr letters, 


252 


THE DOT EMIGRANTS. 


Jolinny,” said Arty, genially, as he saw that the friendlew 
little lad looked on the happy circle of readers with a 
longitig face, ‘‘ only I suppose it wouldn’t do you any 
good. You might ‘ play ’ that it was from your sister.” 

“ I don’t mind it a bit,” said Johnny, stoutly ; “ but it 
is sort of hard-like that I’ve got nobody to write to me. 
Nobody, nobody ! ” and the lad’s eyes filled with tears, in 
spite of himself. 

Nevertheless, there was news about Johnny. Farmer 
Stevens had made inquiries, and had found that one 
Doctor Jenness, known as a veterinary surgeon, otherwise 
horse-doctor,” lived at Lick Springs, Vermillion County , 
and that his sister, name unknown, had married some 
years ago, and had subsequently died in Ogle Countj, 
leaving a little son and some property. So much was 
already discovered by way of a beginning, and the good 
man was sure he should be able to trace the rest by-aiul- 
by. Johnny heard the story without much interest. 
Arty was exedted to know that his father was on the 
track of Johnny’s parentage. It had been a great mys- 
tery to him. Tie was sure some great thing might happen 
yet. But Johnny was satisfied with his present con. lition, 
and was at home with his new friends. Beyond these he 
had no concern whatever. 

As soon as the frost was out of the giound, the boys 
went to work again with a hearty good will. They had put 
their mining tools in order during the winter leisure, and 
their very first ventures into the claim were richly repaid. 
They had worked well up towards the upper end of the 
gulch, skinning off the top soil and digging up the pay 
dirt next to the bed-rock. One day, Mont, \\ ho was man- 
fully tugging away with his returning strength, fairly 
shouted with delight, as his shovel turned up a broker 


LUCK IN STREAKS, 


25 ?! 


mass of gold, shining in one magical cluster. The boys 
came running, and stooping down, with hooked fingers, 
Hi eagerly clawed out the loose earth. There, in a nai- 
row crevice in the bed-rock, like eggs in a basket, weie 
thirteen lumps of bright, yellow, solid gold, some as large 
as butternuts, some smaller, and some about as large as 
marbles. They were all irregular in shape, but all were 
smootlily ronncled as if tliey had been rolled and rolled 
for ages in the bed of some swiftly moving sti-eam. The 
earth was closely packed about tlicm, and even in this 
soft bed appeared shining particles, which would have 
excited tlieir expectations if they had not now the great 
luck in their grasp. 

I allow there must be at least fifty thousand dollars 
in that there hole 1 ” said Hi, feverishly, as he fingered 
the glorious chispas.” 

Oh, Hi, you’re crazy ! ” broke in Barney. “ There 
isn’t more than ton thousand in the whole lot, if there is 
so much. Gold dust is mighty deceiving, you know.” 

“ ^yell, let’s go for the nest,” said Tom, valiantly bran- 
dishing the pick. May be we’ll strike another such nest 
deeper down.” 

But this was a vain hope. The dirt was carefully 
scraped out of the little hole where the gold liad been 
found. When washed, it paid well, though not in big 
lumps. The boys dug all around the lucky spot without 
finding any more rich deposits. Hi left his rocker by the 
creek, in order to be on hand when the next “ big strike ” 
was made ; and he grew fretful as days went by and 
only fair wages were returned for their labors. 

Meantime, loving. lettei*s to the folks at home were 
written, and a modest returr of their first great luck was 
also sent. The actual value of their find, after all, was 


S54 


THE EOT EMIGRANTS. 


not nearly so great as it had seemed. Gold diif-t, as 
Barney had truly said, is deceiving. Their mine had 
yielded, since spring had opened, ten thousand dollai’S, of 
wliich about one-half had been found in what Johnny 
called ‘‘ the lucky hole.” 

So, with the letters home went a package of gold dust. 
Mining operations had thickened so among the mountaina 
that Freeman’s Express Company had pushed its agenciea 
far up into the Sierra. Mounted messengers collected 
and delivered letters and small parcels, and no sight in 
all the year was so welcome to these exiles in the 
mountains of California as the lithe horseman, with his 
saddle-bags sti-apped behind him and his pistols at his 
belt, rode over the divide and plunged into the gulches 
where men were delving in the mines. Now they had 
money on the way home — “ money in the bank,” as Hi 
])ut it — and they returned to their work with new energy. 
They ran narrow trenches up into the slopes on either side 
of their claim. They sank holes in the edges of the 
bank, the central portion of the triangular gulch having 
been carefully worked over. One day, when they weighed 
up their gains for that day’s labor, they found just ten 
dollars. Hi frowned, and said that “ the youngsters ” 
were getting lazy. Tom, as a representative youngster, 
resented this remark, and murmured something about 
punching Hi’s head. Mont interfered in behalf of peace, 
and cheerily reminded them that there had been a time 
WJien ten dollai-s was a good show for a day’s work. 

But that was when we were prospecting,” said Barney, 
ruefully looking at the meagre little yield of gold. ‘‘ Now 
we are supposed to be in a paying claim. Ten dollars a 
day is less than two dollars a-piece.” 

The next day’s harvest was twenty-two dol’ars The 


L UCK IN STREAKS. 255 

next was worse jet — only five dollai-s. But on the third 
day they washed out eighty-five cents ! 

An expert from Swell-Head Gulch was called in to 
view the premises. He walked over the ground, spitting 
his tobacco-juice into every hole, as though that were the 
tnagic means by which he was to divine the situation, — 
asked a few questions, and, when the lucky find was 
described, said, with great contempt : 

“ That war only a pocket.’’ 

Then he scooped up some of the earth next the outer 
edge of the bed-rock last laid bare, poked it about in the 
palm of his rough hand, with a knowing air, and said : 

“ Boys, your claim is played out.” 

So saying, he stalked away, without giving the matter a 
second thought. 

In an instant almost their castles in the air had tumbled. 
Barnai d sat down on the ground in a most depressed con- 
dition of mind, saying : 

“ Just our luck 1 ” 

Hi growled : “ And we’ve been and gone and sent all 
our money home.” 

Arty turned to Mont, and asked with his eyes : 

“Well?” 

And Mont said : “There’s only one thing to do, boys. 
As Bush would say, we may as well ‘ get up and dust’ ” 


256 


THE DOT EMIORANTB.^ 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 

WAJ^DEKINO ONCE MOKE. \ 

i 

When the boys tiiially resolved to leave Crow bait dig 
gings, they found it easier to remove than they had 
thought. Little by little they had reduced their outfit. 
The cattle had been sold, tlieir horse was dead, the tent 
had been used up in various ways, the box of their wagon 
made into trunks and benches, and the running geai 
traded off for flour to a man who had happened that way 
early in the spring. Nevertheless, as they loaded them- 
selves with their mining tools and slender stock of pro- 
visions, and made ready to turn their backs on what had 
been home to them, they could not help feeling sad. 
Since they had left the States no place had so long been 
their camp. 

But their preparations for a tramp were soon finished, 
and, one bright spring morning, they marched up the 
ijrcek. The faithful Pete trotting along at Arty’s heels, 
was very much surprised, apparently, at this sudden 
desertion of the old home. 

‘‘Good-by, old Boston I” said Arty, as they turned a 
bend in the river which would shut the log cabin from 
▼lew. “ Good-by ! woVe had a good time and some hard 
luck with you.” 

“ Good riddance to old Boston, I say,” grumbled Tom, 
who was staggering along under the weight of sundry pots 
and pans. “ I’m glad to get shut of the place. Too much 


WANDERING ONCE MORE. 


257 


Oh, shut your mouth aud come ahead,” scolded Hi. 
^ It appears like you all wanted to make speeches on the 
old shebang.” Nevertheless, Ili breathed a long sigh, and 
sot liis face with a hard look, as if he was determined 
tliat he would not re<rret leaving their first home in 
California. 

They had heard of Table Mountain as being a vei*y 
rich mining region, and thither the little company of gold- 
seekers now bent their steps. Their way was along the 
foot-hills, covered with verdure, and knee-deep in wild 
flowers. The slopes were splashed with great patches c>f 
blue, white, orange, and yellow, showing where the wild 
larkspur, heliotrope and poppy grew in prodigal luxuri- 
ance. The pines and spruces were spicy with balsamic 
odors, and the air was soft with the early summer heat 
swept up from the Sacramento Valley. 

Now and then they encountered a party of miners, two, 
three, or half a dozen, laboriously climbing the steep trails 
which led among the hills; and now and then they stum- 
bled on others who were working at claims which they 
had taken up by streams and in gulches. But, for the 
most part, the young lads had the country to themselves, 
as they tramped steadily onward to the north. It was a 
vast solitude, almost untrodden by the foot of man. The 
few prospectors who came and went were soon lost in the 
well-nigh pathless wi.derness. There were no houses to 
be seen, no roads, and even the trails which they crossed 
occasionally seemed to have been traced since the snow 
had melted. Gray rabbits bounded out and in among the 
ferns. Ground squirrels set up their tails like banners, 
and drifted on before the wayfarers, and the parti-colored 
magpies screamed angrily from the bushes, as if resenting 
this intrusion of human strangers. 


258 


THE BOY EMIO BANTS. 


On the second day, climbing up a sharp ridge, late in 
the afternoon, they beheld a little village on the summit 
of the next divide. Between the ridge and the divide was 
a wide ravine, through which ran a pretty stream, and 
all along its banks the fresh earth was tumbled and 
heaped. A few rough-hewn beams and puncheons 
showed where men had been working. But no miners 
wei-e in sight. 

‘‘ Those fellows knock off work pretty early in the 
afternoon,” said Barney, as the paily rested on the ridge. 

‘‘ Good diggings and makin’ lots of money, most likely,” 
added Hi. 

“ From this distance their camp looks quite homelike,” 
said Mont, “ though 1 suppose we should find it mean 
enough when we get into it. But see how well that double 
row of cabins is set against the background of trees. If 
there was only a little paint on some of those shanties, it 
would look quite like a hamlet among the mountains of 
Vermont.” 

“ Only you never see that nasty red earth among the 
Green Mountains,” added Barnard, with disgust, for the 
natural scenery of the country never pleased him. It was 
“ foreign,” he said. 

The boys wondered what the settlement was, and so, 
picking up their burdens, they scrambled down the hill- 
side, waded through the tall grass in the bottom, and 
i rossed the creek on a rude little bridge, which had evi- 
dently been made to enable the miners to drag in their 
lumber from the woods near by. 

“ ’Pears like as if these fellows hadn’t been at work here 
lately,” said Hi, curiously scanning the diggings. Water 
liad settled in the holes where the miners had been digging. 
The only tools to be seen were worthless and rust-covered, 


WANDERING ONJE MORE. 


259 


and a broken sluice-box lay warping in the sun. ft looked 
as if the place had been left for a night, and th^ workers 
had never waked again to their labors. 

The boys climbed the divide and entered the settlement.. 
It was divided by a single street or alley, which ran 
through the middle. There were eight cabins on one 
side, and seven on the other. These were built of r(‘Ugh 
logs, hewn boards or puncheons, and one or two were 
pieced out with blue cloth, now faded and mildewed. 
Looking down the street, the lads saw that every door was 
open, and that most of these, swinging outwards, had an 
unhinged and neglected look. Here and there, in the 
middle of the narrow street, was a scrap of cast-off clothing, 
an old hat, a broken tool, or a battered bit of tin-ware ; 
and, thickly strewing the ground, were dozens of empty 
tins, in which meat, vegetables, or oysters had been 
preserved. 

But nobody was in sight. Arty timidly peeped into tlio 
first cabin on the left. Nobody there. Tom blundered 
into the house on the right. Nobody there. So they went, 
almost holding tlieir breath, half-suspecting a surprise, 
down through the little village. Every house was empty, 
silent and tenantless. All save one. In the last house on 
the left, where somebody had planted wild columbines 
al>out the door-step, and a few pink flowers were unfolding 
themselves, as if the old solitude of the place had returned, 
little Johnny started back in affright. In the gloom of the 
interior a pair of huge fiery eyes gleamed from one 
cy>rner. 

“ Wha-what’s that ? he stammered, and backed towards 
the door. Arty came and Iwkcd over his shoulder, and 
when the eyes of the boys had bec(>mc a little accustomed 
to the darkness, they descried a solitary cat sitting on a 


260 


TEE DOT EMIGRANTS. 


table strewed with bones, broken pipes, and bottles, tha 
only surviving inhabitant of this deserted village. 

Poor pus ! ” said Arty, advancing towards her. Puss 
set up her tail, cried “ Pliit I Pint!’’ darted through tlie 
door, and disappeared in tlie underbrush, pursued by Pete* 
who was apparently delighted at seeing an old aciquaint- 
ance. It \vas the first cat he had met in California. 

The boys stood still with a sort of awe, which even tho 
comical flight of the cat could not quite dispel. They 
were in a deserted camp. A village of the dead. Where 
were its inhabitants? Had a plague carried them off? 
If so, who had buried the last man ? The untenanted 
settlement bore no sign to show who had lived here or 
where they had gone. Some unmeaning letters, hacked 
in the door-ways, in moments of idleness, probably gave 
the initials of some of the vanished settlers ; and a few 
rabbit-skins shrivelling on the cabin-walls, where they had 
been nailed by the hunters, reminded the visitors that 
destructive men had lived here. But that was all. Tho 
red sunliglit sifted down in an empty street, and partly 
glorified the silent, shabby, and forlorn mining camp. 

‘‘These cliaps have heard of some rich diggings some- 
, where. They have been easily discouraged here. And 
they have packed up their traps in a hurry and vamosed 
the ranch.” This was Barney’s deliberate opinion, after 
he had surveyed the ground with some care. 

This was the most reasonable explanation possible. 
Mont said that if the entire community of Swell Head 
Diggings had vanished in a single day, bound for Gold 
Lake, as the boys knew, why should not a Digger settle 
inent leave in a hurry, and make a rush for some othei 
Buch folly ? 

Anyhow, here’s a house a-piece for to-niirht,” added 


WANDEiilNO ONCE MORE, 


261 


Mont, “and a plenty left for storage. We may as well 
camp here.” 

The young adventurers examined the habitations with 
a critical air, but finally agreed to keep together in one of 
the largest of the cabins. Arty declared that it was “ too 
poky ” to sleep alone in any one of these deserted man- 
sions. Somehow the others were of the same opinion. 

Next morning, when they straggled out into the early 
daylight, in answer to Mont’s cheerful call, Barney crossly 
said : 

“ I thought you said this was a deserted village, Mont ? ” 
“So I did.” 

“ Tisn’t so ; there’s plenty of tenants.” 

“ I know what he means,” said Arty, with a comical look 

“ WTiat then ? ” demanded Mont. 

“ Fleas ! ” 

Everybody laughed. They had been long enough in 
California to find out that these were tenants which never 
caught the gold fever, and never vacated any premises 
whatever. 

That day brought them, after frequent stoppages for 
prospecting, to the base of Table Mountain. 

It was a long flat-topped eminence, almost perpendiculai 
as to its sides, and shelving rapidly down into a well- 
wooded and broken country, cut up by small streams. All 
along these streams were good diggings, it was said, and 
tiie chances were promising for gold-mining almost any- 
where. 

In a broad, open space, through which a shallow creek 
poured over bars of sand and gravel, was Iloosiertown, 
Miners’ cabins, tents and booths were dotted over the 
rocky interval, and all along the creek were men working 
like beavers. There were sluices, long-toms, cradles, and 


262 


TUE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


ail sorts of contrivances for mining. At one place on th« 
stream, the miners had run a dam out into the current 
from one bank, and thei-, curving it down stream, ba^l 
turned it hack again to a point a little below the side from 
whi '.h it had started. This was a “ wingdam.” By making: 
it tclerably tight the place thus inclosed was comparatively 
free of water. Rude pumps were also put in to pump out 
the water, and these were worked by means of “ flutter- 
wheels,” moved by the flowing water outside of the dam, 
very like the wheel of a water-mill. In this wingdam 
nieti worked with the water up to their middle. They 
dug up the bottom of the stream, — sand, gravel, and stone. 
As the water sunk away and the bottom was cleaned, they 
found gold — gold in lumps and flue scales — which had 
been washed there in the far-off times. 

This was going on all along the stream, and everywhere 
men were busy with various wooden machines, rude and 
clumsy, to be sure, but good enough for the present 
purpose. 

The boys looked on with silent amazement. This was 
a real mining settlement. Here were more than one hun- 
dred men at work, and using machinery that had cost much 
labor and money. They seemed to be determined to get 
every sciap of gold, even though they iiad to wipe np the 
river, scrape down the mountain, and root out the forest. 
Tliey were very much in earnest, anxious, without comfort, 
and for the most part, haggard and ragged. 

The herders of the once pleasant stream were gashed 
irith diggings, and disngured with cumbrous mining ap- 
paratus. Even upon the hill-sides the surface was dotted 
with heaps of red and yellow earth, where greedy pros- 
pectors had burrowed in f )r gold. Along the valley, on 
either side of the stream, the cabins, with gaping seam® 


WANLERINO ONCE MORE. 


263 


open to storm or wind, weltered in the sun; and the 
barren and comfortless place wore a homesick look to the 
young gold-hunters. 

Arty’s quick eye detected a woman’s frock hanging or 
tne thoiny branches of a manzanita brush near a cabin 
wliich looked less untidy than the others. 

“Hooray! there’s a woman in this camp, anyhow,” 
said Hi, with enthusiasm, when Arty had pointed out tfiO 
purple calico on the manzanita. “ Let’s go and take a look 
at her.” 

Hather shamefacedly, as if afraid of womankind, the lada 
straggled up to the cabin and dropped their packs on the 
ground. A comely young woman, brown in face and bare 
arms, but wearing a smart ribbon in her hair, came to the 
door with a sharp : “ Are you here again ? ” 

“ Nance, with hoops on as sure as I’m alive ! ” exclaimed 
Hi ; and his under jaw dropped clean down to express his 
utter amazement. 

Nance blushed to the roots of her hair, and said : “ Wliy, 
1 thought it was that ornery feller, Missouri Joe ; he’s a 
sparkin’ round here just continual.” 

“ Howdy ? boys, howdy ? ” broke in the good Mrs. Dobbs 
who now came forward and looked over her daughter’s 
shoulder: “ We’re powerful glad to see ye. ’Pears like 
old time to see you, boys. My old man was a-speaking 
about you no raore’n yesterday.” 

Nance, recovering herself after her first surprise, web 
C4^»med the lads, and the whole party, seated on tJie door-step 
and about the cabin, exchanged all the news tliey had to 
tell. The Dobbs family had been here since the snow left, 
which was early, for not much snow fell in these parts. 
They had done well. They were doing well. Philo Dobba 
had a “ pardner and the two had a wingdam, from which 


THE BOY EMI0RAHT8. 


2G4 

great tilings Mere expected. Yes, there wcie plenty oi 
chances here. AVliy, even tunnelling had been tried, and 
from some of these holes men had got out gold, as ^Itb 
D obbs expressed it, ‘‘ liand over list.” 

^'es,” slie said, Mdieii Mont had remarked Nance's 
rapid growtli. “ Yes, Nance has got to be right peart of a 
gal. If she had a little more age onto her, and didn’t kick 
up her heels now and then, she’d be quite a young woman.” 

“ La, ma, how you do run on,” pouted Nancy, the 
blushes gloM'ing through her brown cheeks. 

‘‘You see, M'e’ve put her into long gowns. Clothes is 
poM’erfiil dear in these parts, to be sure ; but she’s tlie only 
young lady in lloosiertown, and I tell my old man, says I, 
something must be sacrificed to appearances, says 1.” 

What with a hoop skirt, a long calico dress, shoes on 
her feet, and a ribbon in her hair, Nance was really quite 
a changed person. Arty and Tom regarded her with an 
unwonted respect, and Hi blushed every time he looked 
at her. 

The boys set up their camp in a deserted cabin Mdiich 
riiilo Dobbs had once occupied, and which he gave them 
full use of for the present. At last I they were in a com 
siderable community again. They felt almost as if they 
had got back into civilization. At night the notes of a 
violin and a flute from one of the cabins, showed that the 
tired miners were solacing themselves with music, and 
sounds of talk and laughter floated on the evening air 
After all, “ it was homelike to be among folks again.” 

So said honest Hi, as the boys contentedly sat about tno 
door of their new home. Then, clasping his hands over 
his knees. Hi looked absently at Pete, who was wir.king 
and blinking at him, and added : “ And she’s tlic only 
young lady in this ) ere town 1 ” 


JL aEPAEATION AND A CALAMITY. 


2U5 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A SEPARATION AND A CALAMITT. 

A GREAT variety of mining was carried on in the 
vicinity of Hoosiertown. As we have seen, the stream 
was lined with w’^orks for extracting gold in several 
different ways. And, back from the valley, in the low 
hills of the region, were some of the operations known as 
“ dry diggings ; ” here the earth was pierced to a great 
depth by perpendicular holes, or shafts. Sinking through 
the dirt which had no gold in it, the miner finally reached 
a layer of earth far under the non-paying mass, where 
coarse gold was found ; then, striking this ‘‘pay-streak’’ 
underneath the ground, he dug it out carefully and 
hoisted it up to the surfaee, where the gold was washed 
out. 

They burrowed in all directions as long as the pay- 
sti’eak led them on ; and the holes thus made were so 
much like the dens of coyotes, or little prairie wolves, 
that this sort of mining was called “coyoting.” As the 
“ coyoting ” miner advanced with his burrow, far below 
the surface, crawling on his hands and knees, and labori- 
ously dragging his basket of dirt to the shaft, where hia 
partner hoisted it up, he was nothing more nor less than a 
burrower. “ Dirty work brings clean money,” be 
thought ; or his mind went back to wife, mother, chil- 
dren, and friends at home, as he dug in the gloom and 
silence far underground. 

12 


266 


TEE BOY EMIGRANTS. 


The earth thus undermined was propped up, as the 
(ioyoters ’’ burrowed in all directions, to keep it from 
ca\'ing in upon them. Usually the overhanging roof of 
tlie burrow was so tough that it needed no support. Uut 
it often happened that the mass settled and quietly shut 
d )wn forever upon the workers below. 

Prospecting over the hills with Philo Dobbs one day, 
Tli and Mont came upon a flat place where a considerable 
patch of the ground had settled a foot or two, leaving a 
ragged, brown edge to show how far the surface had 
dropped. 

‘‘ This yere,” said Dobbs, stepping into the middle of 
tlie depression, “ is where the Redman boys was caved in 
on last fall. That there hole is where their shaft was.” 

‘‘ Caved in upon ? ” asked Mont, with a shiver. ‘‘ How 
many of them were there ? ” 

“ There was the three Redman boys ; tliey were from 
Maine, they was ; two brothers and a cousin. Then there 
was a chap from lllinoy ; name was Eph Mullet. They 
were the chaps that was caved on.” 

“ Eph Mullet I ” exclaimed Mont. “ Why, Hi, that 
was Bill Bunco’s partner. Don’t you remember ? ” 

“ Sure enough,” said Philo Dobbs. “ 1 mind me now 
that that Bunco had a pardner, but I didn’t know his 
name was Mullet. He and Bunco must have fallen out, 
for he was surely in the Redman party, and is buried 
under this very spot.” And, as if to give emphasis to 
his words, Dobbs rose on his toes and came down heavily 
on his heels in the middle of this strange grave. 

‘‘And where was the man at the mouth of the sliaft all 
this 'ime ? ” asked Hi, indignantly. “ Why didn’t he ruu 
down to the camp at Hoosiertown, and give the alarm, 
and have these poor f eAlows dug out ? ” 


A REPARATION AND A GALAMITT: 


267 


Oh, he got off safe. But as for Hoosiertown, that 
wasn’t built then. This was last fall, and nothing had 
been done at Hoosiertown except a little prospecting on 
the creek by some stragglers, who had scratched about a 
bit and had lit out again for better diggin’s. Here, you 
can see, where the survivin’ pardner, as it were, started 
in to dig for his mates. But, Lor ! he had to go down 
twenty odd feet. No wonder he gave it up as a bad job, 
and ])ut out by himself.” 

“ What a horrible story I ” said Mont, looking at the 
sunken tract of earth which covered so much sorrow. 

“ Yas, yas,” replied Dobbs. “ There’s any number of 
poor fellers huntin’ for gold and leavin’ their bones 
among these yere hills, in pits, ravines, and gulches, and 
their folks at home a-wonderin’ why they don’t never 
turn up. Turn up ! Why, they’ll never show a hand 
till the Day of Jedgment.” And Philo Dobbs thought- 
fully picked up a bit of pay-dirt, and rubbed it out on 
the palm of his hand. 

Coyote mining had a gloomy outlook to the boys, but 
Hi was very much fascinated with the hill-diggings 
which he saw some of the miners at work in. Some of 
these were nothing more than coyote holes run horizon- 
tally with the side of a hill, until the pay-dirt was 
reacJied. As these rude tunnels were easily dug, and the 
gold so found was coarse, the tem])tation to carry on that 
sort of mining was great. Hi declared in favor of hill- 
diggings. 

But Mont and Barnard had found a place rearer the 
camp, which ])romisoi better. Besides, it was the only 
kind of mining that they knew anything about, and they 
were afraid of any new experiments. Hi was obstinate, 
and, moreover he was tired, he said, of the old wav. 


268 


THE EOT EMIOEANTS, 


which had not been profitable enough. He wanted to got 
his money — lots of it — and leave. Miners were already 
going back to the States with their “ files.” Poor III 
thought he must make his “ pile ” right away, and leave 
for home. 

Mont and Barnard shook their heads sorrowfully. 
Mont kindly argued the matter with their obstinate com* 
rade. But Barney indignantly blurted out, “ Why, you 
wouldn’t burst up the partnership, would you ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Hi, doggedly. “ I’ll go into the hill-dig- 
gin’s myself, if you don’t. That is, Tom and I.” 

‘‘ Tom and I indeed,” broke in that young person. 
I’d like to know what makes you think I’d go along 
with you. I’m goin’ to stay with the rest of the crowd. 
If you want to git, git I ” 

“ See yere, youngster,” said Hiram, red with anger, 
you are to go where I go. I’m yer gardeen ; if you don’t 
go with me, where’s yer pardner ? Who’ll ye work with 1 
The chances are all taken.” 

‘‘ I allow I’ll work for myself,” said the boy, sullenly, 
but somewhat in doubt. 

a very sorry to have you think of going,” said 

Mont ; “ but if you must go, Tom may as well go with you. 
Isn’t that so, boys ? ” 

I’he rest of the party took this view of the case, and after 
much consultation, it was agreed that Hi should draw 
out of the partnership, take his and Tom’s share of tlie 
profits, and strike out for himself. The boys were all 
sorry over this first break in their company. 

They sat uneasily about their cabin, in an embarrassed 
way, as if there was to be a ceremony of some sort which 
they dreaded to meet. 

Hang it all I ” said Hi, m ith a shamefaced look. “ J 


A SEPARATION AND A CALAMITY, 269 

allow it is powerful mean for me to quit and go off by 
myself. D’ye ’spose it’ll pay, after all ? ” 

“ You’re the best judge of that,” said Barney, coldly. 

It’s your own proposition.” 

“ No, no,” broke in Arty, eagerly, and leaning ovtr the 
table towards Hi. “ Share and share alike is always tetter 
than going it alone, you know. It’s more sociable, any- 
how.” 

Hi’s eyes softened a little as he looked in the bright 
face of the lad ; but just then his hand struck the heavy 
canvas pouch in which his and Tom’s portion of the com- 
pany’s savings had been put. He drew a long, hard 
breath, and said, “ I allow I’ll try the hill-diggin’s.” 

At Arty’s suggestion. Hi and Tom decided to mess 
with the boys for the present. The spot which Hi had 
fixed upon for his trial at tunnelling was not so far from 
the cabin that ho could not come back at night, get his 
supj)er, and sleep. 

Hi was secretly glad to make this arrangement. He 
would be willing to endure some additional fatigue rather 
than lodge elsewhere than with his old comrades. Be- 
sides, as he craftily argued with himself, it would be 
more economical. 

Hi took possession of a hole, or tunnel, which some- 
body had begun to drive into a hill just above Table 
Mountain, to the north. Near this were two or three good 
claims in which men were busily at work and taking out 
gold. Hi’s tunnel had been begun by two or three men 
from Poverty Hill, the deserted village on the divide. 
When the rush from Poverty Hill to Rattlesnake Bar was 
made early in the spring, said a friendly Hoosiertown set- 
tler, these miners had tried their luck at river mining on 
Hoosier Creek. A week’s work disgusted them, when 


270 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


they essayed hill diggings, put in a few feet of tunnel 
ling, and then were off to Trinity River — away up in tlw 
northern part of the State. 

Hi now entered into their labors, accompanied with 
much grumbling by Tom. As for Barnard, Mont, Arthur, 
find Johnny, after prospecting about the fiat near Iloosier- 
town, they took up and worked in a claim, not much 
unlike that which they had held at Crowbait. They met 
with fair success at once, and, within a week, they 
“ cleaned up ” eight hundred dollars. This was encour- 
aging. Hi, whose first question, when weary and fagged^ 
he reached the cabin at night was always, “ What luck 
to-day, boys ? ” heard the good news with ill-concealed 
chagrin, though he tried hard to rejoice heartily in the 
good fortune of his late comrades. 

Neveitheless, Hi soon struck the pay streak and began 
to bring home every night a goodly harvest from his day’s 
work. Three ounces, four ounces, five ounces, and even 
ten ounces, did he turn out of his buckskin bag, at the end 
of some day of labor. He spread the golden grains on the 
surface of their rude table, caressing the heap with real 
joy. Sixteen dollars to the ounce was the rate of reckoning 
gold in those days, and at this rate, Ili had done well, for 
he had only just begun to work into the pay dirt, lie was 
very much elated by his good luck, and if everybody else 
had not been too busy with his own concerns to bother 
about those of others, he would have had the ie]mtation of 
being a highly successful miner. As it was, his great 
wealth was chiefly in the future. 

The whole company, meanwhile, got on very harmoni- 
ously in their cabin. They all went to work in the morning, 
taking their dinner with them. At night they met around 
their supper, talked over the events of the day, and specu 


A SJPPAIiATlOJV' AJ^D A CALAMITY, 


271 


lated on the possibilities of to-morrow. It wa© a simple 
sort of life. They enjoyed it, and Nance, commonly known 
in the camp as “ Dobbs’s gal,’’ was kind enough to receive 
a call from them once in a while, or drop in and give 
Arthur and Johnny a needless hint about cooking bacon 
and bread, which articles yet remained the staple of theii 
fare. 

Hi regarded Nance with bashful aversion. She made 
him blush in spite of himself; and once, when she re- 
proved him for using slang, he grew very angry, and said 
iihe was “ putting on airs.” It must be confessed that the 
girl grew womanly, sedate, and almost dignified. She never 
seemed to forget that she was “ the only young lady in the 
camp.” 

“ Cut for home, boys,” said Barney, cheerily, one after 
noon. “ The sun is down behind the lone pine, and it’s 
time you were getting supper ready.” 

Arty and Johnny very gladly dropped their tools and 
climbed the hill which lay between the claim and Iloosier- 
town. The sun was sinking low, and as the lads passed 
over the brow of the hill and began to descend the slope 
on the other side, they could see the broken, perpendicular 
walls of Table Mountain gilded with yellow light. 

The nearest edge of the mountain was low in places, 
with benches or ledges, running along just above the road 
which wound through the vallej^ at the foot of the moun- 
tain. As the hurrying boys paused for an instant and 
looked off over the landscape, bathed in the setting sun, Arty 
saw the figure of a man stooping and running along the 
precipitous edge of the distant cliff, and occasionally stop- 
ping as if to watch something moving along the road be- 
neath, which was not in sight from where the boy stood 
on the distant hill. Like a bird of prey, the man swiftly 


272 


THE BOY EMIORANTSL 


ran ai d watched, then stooped and ran, and watched again. 
Now and then he made a motion as if to drop something 
from his hand into the road beneath his feet. Then ho 
seemed to think better of it, and he ran on, watching and 
waiting. 

“ Carious critter that,” muttered Arty. 

“ Pshaw! it looks like Bill Bunco, ” answered Johnny, 
with a little start of disgust. “ Let’s run,” and with that he 
trotted towards home as fast as his tired legs could carry 
him. 

Just then the strange figure across the valley, now near 
the angle which Table Mountain makes where the valley 
opens out towards Iloosiertown, let fall sometliing which 
seemed to be a heavy stone. Then he quickly pitched down 
another and another. Then he jumped over the edge of 
the cliff and scrambled down out of sight towards the road 
below. 

“ Queer boy Johnny is ; always thinking of Bill Bunce 1 ” 
so said Arty to himself, as he bounded along light-heart- 
edly and overtook his comrade. 

When they reached the cabin, Tom was there before 
them, and was already chopping the fire-wood for their 
evening cooking, and grumbling about his brother. 

‘‘ Yes,” he said, “lli’s always higgling and haggling, 
lie’s afraid to leave the leastest speck of gold anywhere 
about that confounded old tunnel over night. There’s no 
thieves about. Honest country, I say. But Hi, he’s droffle 
suspicious. Sly folks always is.” 

Arty remonstrated with Tom foi holding such a mean 
opinion of his brother, and Barney and Mount, who soon 
came over the hill, rebuked the lad for not staying with 
Hi tc help him clear up his day’s work. 

Hi is a good brother, anyhow,” said Barnard heartily 


A SEPARATION AND A CALAMITY. 


273 


as he blew the water off liis red face, and began tc polish 
it with a coarse towel. “ And, my little man, it stands you 
in hand to hold up your end of the yoke, as Arty says. 
Still, Hi is late to-night.” 

Just then four or five red-shirted miners, bearing some 
strange burden, came out from the mouth of the valley 
above and made straight for the cabin where our boys were 
making ready for supper. 

They seemed to be carrying a wounded man ; and as they 
drew nearer, the tender-hearted Barney burst out with, 
‘‘ My grief ! it’s poor old Hi ! ” And so it was. The miners, 
coming home from work, had encountered a figure sitting 
up in the dust and feebly trying to rise. There was a 
ghastly wound on the top of his head. Ilis hair was clotted, 
and dark red stains were on his face. Groping about in the 
dazzling light of the sun, then level with the valley. Hi, 
for the miners recognized Hi Fender, had murmured 
something indistinctly, and had become unconscious. 

The poor fellow was laid upon his bunk. Mont said at 
once, ‘‘ We must have a doctor.” 

“ Thar’s nary doctor round hyar,” said one of the miners, 
roughly but kindly. “ Yer pard’s hurt powerful bad. He 
may as well pass in his checks.” 

“ Perhaps doctorin’ will do him no good. But there’s a 
young chap down to Smith’s Bar who does something in 
that line.” 

It seemed an age to the sorrowful, anxious group in Ihe 
cabin while Barney, mounted on the only steed in the 
camp, a fiery mustang, rode to Smith’s Bar, four miles 
away, and brought back the doctor. 

Meanwhile, Mont and Arthur bathed poor Hi s head, 
cleansed his face, and tried to relieve his sufferings. He 
only groaned and made no sign of intelligence. 

12 * 


274 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS, 


Tom, boavy-liearted and remorseful, went on with the 
cooking of snj)per in an absent-minded way. The men 
who had brought Hi home said, “Just send word over to 
yon blue tent, if there’s anything we can do for you — 
whisky, caraphire, watchers, or anything the like of that,” 
Then they went their w&t. 


A STRANGE VASE. 


275 


OHAPTEK XXVI. 

A STRANGE CASE. 

Mont scrutinized with some sharpness and anxiety the 
doctor from Smith’s Bar. He was a tall, lithe, sinewy 
young fellow, with a long, full beard, like a tangle of flax, 
a worn face, and cold, gray eyes. He wore a slouch hat 
and a blue flannel shirt ; his trousers were tucked into his 
boots, and a belt at his waist carried a little wallet, where 
less peaceable people usually wore a pistol. 

Arty was immediately disgusted with the cold, hard 
way with which tlie young doctor asked a few questions 
about the accident, and with the business-like and unsym- 
pathetic manner with which he studied the wounds of 
the unconscious Hi, who still lay breathing heavily and 
unable to speak. 

“ A queer-looking doctor, 1 must say,” muttered Mont 
to himself, very much dissatisfled with his general a}>peai- 
ance. And his thoughts went back to the white-haii cd, 
dignified physician of his New England home, a man 
whose presence seemed to shed a balm of healing wherever 
he went. But when Dr. Carson tenderly lifted Hi’s 
woumled head, dressed the poor mangled scalp witJi light 
swiftness, and cleansed, with all of a woman’s skilfuliiesa 
of touch, the places that the boys had not dared to touch, 
Mont changed his mind, and Barney and Arty looked on 
with grateful admiration. 

“ I will stay with you until he recovers c( nsciousneas,” 
said the doctor. “ He will rally presently.” 


276 


THE BOY EMIQRAHTa, 


It was now late into the night, but nobody carea to 
sleep until they knew whether life or death was before 
their comrade. Dr. Carson had spoken cheerily, but ho 
had given no opinion ; none had been asked, and the boys 
dropped wearily about, while the doctor, with his chin 
resting on his hand, sat steadfastly and thoughtfully re- 
garding Hi. 

Presently the young fellow stirred out of his long trance, 
and, moving his hand, heavily whispered : The other 
pocket ! the otlier pocket ! ” 

The doctor started forward to catch the words, when 
Hi, calmly opening his eyes, looked up at him with sur- 
pi’ise and said, “ Well, what of it ? ’’ 

Dr. Carson smiled and said, pleasantly : “ So it was the 
other pocket, was it ? ” 

Hi looked at him with a queer, puzzled air, and feebly 
replied : “ I don’t know about that. Was 1 hurt much ? ” 

‘‘Not much to speak of, my man. But I wouldn’t talk 
about it now. In the morning you can tell us all about 
it.” 

But Hi persisted. “ 1 always allowed that there tunnel 
would cave. I meant to have timbered it to-morrow or 
next day.” And here Hi painfully raised his hand to his 
licad, shuddered, and, as if shocked at the discovery of 
his wounds, relapsed into unconsciousness again. 

The gray dawn was struggling into the cabin, when 
Arty, sick and faint with waiting and watching, awoke 
from an uneasy sleep on the floor. The young doctor 
still sat, alert and vigilant, by the side of Hi’s bunk; 
Mont was near at hand with all his usual freshness and 
helpfulness. Barney slept with his head leaning forward 
on the table, while Tom and Johnny were yet sound asleep 
in their cwm places. 


A STJiAJ^Oi: OASB, 


277 


Hi had asked for water once or twice during the night, 
but beyond that he had made no sign of coming back to 
life. So tliey sat and watched and waited. The bright 
morning rose np fresh and clear over Table Mountain, 
flooding the valley with its redness. Sounds of early 
labor came from the scattered cabins in the flat. The 
creaking of the flutter-wheels which had kept on through 
the night was now confused with other noises, as the 
miners began another day’s work. Smoke curled from 
the rude chimneys of Iloosiertown ; faint odors of frying 
meat floated on the tranquil air, and two or three red 
skirted citizens, groping their way out into the light, 
stretched themselves heavily and yawned with a tremen- 
dous yawn, the echoes of which reached Arty, where he 
sat against the wall of the cabin looking out, sad-eyed and 
dejected, through the open door. 

Mrs. Dobbs, who had been often by the sick man’s side 
the niglit before, now put her head in at the door and 
whis])ered : “ How is he by this time ? ” 

The doctor said : He’s looking better.” 

Then lli suddenly awoke and said : ‘‘ You allow it’s a 
pretty bad Imrt, do you, mister ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the doctor, ‘‘ but you will come out all 
right; don’t worry about it. You are feeling pretty well 
now ? ” 

“ Right peart, ’cept about the head. My head is as 
light as a feather. Oh, yes, I remember it all now. The 
tunnel caved in on me. When I felt the rock coming 
down on me, and heard ’em patterin’ on my head and 
shoulders, I made for the mouth of the tunnel. I just 
remember how the sun blazed into my eyes when I stag- 
gered out on the side-hill, It seemed as if the world wjw 


278 


THE DOT EMI0BANT8, 


all afire, comm’ out of that there dark hole, and facing 
the glare of the sun. 

“Well, well, I wouldn’t go on no more about it now, 
Hi,” said Mrs. Dobbs. “The doctor says you must be 
kept quiet.” 

But, though urged to keep still, Hi continued : “ 1 allow 
1 must have put for home. 1 saw the road. It was ail 
red dust, and tlie sun poured down over it. But I disre- 
member how I got over it. It appears like I was carried.” 

“ Yes,” said Mont, “ the fellows over to the blue tent 
were coming up from their claim. They saw you sitting 
in the road, wounded, and they brought you home.” 

“ Good fellows, those blue tent chaps. Whereabouts 
was I then ? ” 

“ Just at the angle of the road, where it breaks around 
the Mountain.” 

“ What ? away down there ! ” exclaimed Hi. “ Why, I 
must have staggered along right smart. Certainly I disre- 
member anything that happened after I got out into the 
sunlight.” 

The doctor here put in his emphatic protest against Hi’s 
having any more talk. So the wounded man lay quite 
still, muttering to himself : “ Cur’ous ! cur’ous ! ” 

Although Hoosiei’town was a busy place, the good- 
hearted miners found time to call at the c-abinand inquire 
li(»w Hi w^as getting on, and to bring little gifts to the 
invalid. 

In a day or two he grew weaker and more inlirin in 
liis mind, and sometimes he seemed wandering and “luny,” 
as Nance expressed it. The girl was very helpful to the 
distressed family, but Arty was quite out of patience with 
her shyness. She was as bright and impertinent as evei 
at tin es; but usually she seemed so dignified and reserved 


A STRANGE CASE, 279 

that Arty quite agreed with Tom, who pronounced her 
“ Btuck up.” 

Dr. Cai-soii came and went every day, and looked on 
Hi’s frequent lapses of mind with some anxiety. On 
one of these occasions, Hi, as if struggling with some 
imaginary foe, painfully muttered : “ Don’t strike again. 
Don’t ! Don’t ! It’s in the other pocket 1 ” 

‘‘ Oh, sho 1 ” said Tom, “ he’s always saying that when 
he has those spells.” 

“ Always saying that?” asked the doctor, sharply. He 
had been watching Hiram ; but he could make nothing 
satisfactory out of the case. 

“ Yes,” replied Tom, “ two or three times, when he has 
had these wandering spells, he talks like that. And he 
talks all sorts of ridiculous things. Drivin’ cattle, and so 
on.” 

Dr. Carson was puzzled. Wlien Hi grew better he 
asked him about the accident. Hi was very clear in his 
story. He perfectly remembered the caving in of the 
tunnel. He felt the rocks fall on his head and shoulders ; 
but most completely he recalled to mind how the bright 
sunshine dazzled his eyes when he came out to the mouth 
of the tunnel, and how red the dusty road under the bluff 
looked, as he caught a glimpse of it and fell. It was a 
clear case to him. “ I allow I know what happened,” ho 
said, with some impatience. 

Hijam murmured and fretted over this loss of time. 
“ It was just his luck,” he said, “ to be laid up when he was 
on the edge of a good streak of dirt.” But he consoled 
himself with the retlection that his last day’s work was a 
good one. 

‘‘ Must have had ten or twelve ounces,” he chuckled 
“ By the way, where is that there bag ? ” 


S80 


THE BOY EMI Q RANT 


Nobody had seen it. Hi had been in the habit oi 
bringing home the result of his day’s work in a buckskin 
bag, wliich had been a company affair. Arty had printed 

Bostons ” on it with pen and ink ; ami a scorched mark 
near the month of it gave it another feature. But that 
particular bag was nowhere to be found. Nobody had 
seen it since the day when Hi put it in his pocket, and 
had gone to work on that unfortunate day. Hi was sure 
that he had his gold in it when he left the tunnel. He 
had crammed it into the left-hand pocket of his jacket, 
for he was just ready to leave the tunnel when the crash 
came. But it was not in tlie garments which he wore 
that day. 

‘‘ I must have dropped it when I staggered down the 
hill. Some of you boys go look for it, won’t you ? You’ll 
find it in the grass along the trail, maybe, or at the mouth 
of the tunnel.” 

Tom and Johnny darted off to look. They were gone 
an hour or two, but found no i)ouch. Hi fretted and 
worried. 

“ Did you go into the tunnel ? ” he demanded. 

“Of course not,” replied Tom, sharply. “We just 
looked in a little ways. You must have dropped it on the 
trail and somebody picked it up.” 

“ Oh, you shiftless 1 ” scolded Hi. I’ll look myself as 
so(*n as 1 get out.” 

But the poor fellow did not get out as soon as ho ex- 
pected. He recovered slowiy, and his spells of mental 
wandering returned frequently, to the great distress of 
his comrades. 

They made no account of his queer in litterings. He 
was continually talking in a vague way, and about all 
sorts of things, when his mind was thus unsettled. He 


A 8TRANQE CASK. 


281 


eeenicd to be in a kind of iii^htHware at eiich times. Tie 
raved incessantly al)out gold. Gold was the harden of 
hip talk, and if he was not picking it up in his dieains, he 
was defending his treasure against the assaults of imagi- 
nary robbers^ with whom he often pleaded: “Don’t strike 
me again ! It’s in the other pocket ! ” 

Dr. Caison cpiestioned Hi about his accident, when ho 
was ill full possession of his senses. He weighed his words 
and vigilantly watched him while he was awake or aslec]), 
and when he was wandering in his mind. There was no 
clue to his wild talk. But the doctor was sure that the 
wounds on Hi’s head were not made by a caving wall. 

One day, having asked for the shortest way to the tun- 
nel, Dr. Carson rode up to that long-neglected work. Dis- 
mounting, he lighted a candle, which he found laid in a 
rift of rock, just where Hi had left it, and stepped care- 
fully into the tunnel. It had been run in about twenty 
feet. Groping along, he soon reached tlie face wall at the 
end where Hi's j)ick and shovel lay as he left them, weeks 
ago. The roof w^as as solid and linn as ever. The few 
rough props put in to support it weic all there. There 
had been no cave. 

Amazed, yet partly relieved, the doctor felt his way 
back to the light, blew out his taperand sat down to think. 
There was the tlood of sunlight, just as Hi saw it ; and the 
red road, which met his eye as he staggered out, still 
wound down to the camp. 

When Dr. Carson returned and gravely said: “There 
was no cave in the tunnel,” everybody echoed : “No 
cave ? ” 

Hi said: “I’ll have to take your word for it, doctor. 
But I’ll give you my word that that there tunnel did cav«, 
and bust my crust, so now 1 ” 


282 


THE DOT EMJGRAN'm 


CHArXER XXVIL 

NEWS AND DISCOVERIES. 

‘^Letters! letters!” shouted Arthur, with giest glee, 
one night, as the tired miners came up to their cabin from 
tlie claim. They had had good luck during the past few 
days ; but even the sight of much gold, now no longer 
sti-angc, could not wholly relieve the feeling of weariness 
which comes from long and exacting labor. The glimpse 
of a bundle of letters from home, which Arty shook in 
their faces as they approached the cabin, banished all fa- 
tigue. Nothing was so precious as these much-worn 
packets of news and loving messages from friends far 
away. They had been handled a great deal since they 
arrived in San Francisco. Bearing the marks of travel, 
as well as the queer red and blue stamps of the express 
companies, these letters had hunted for the young emi- 
grants all the way from Sacramento and Nye’s Ranch 
through various diggings and camps. A bright-eyed, 
alert-looking young fellow, mounted on a scrubby but 
speedy mustang, had dashed into town, dropped a few 
packages at “ F rceman & Co.’s agency,” bandied comj)li- 
ments with tlie loungers about the place, mounted his 
Bleed again, and had loped off in a more leisurely way 
towards Sardine Gulch. 

Dropping his preparations for supper, Arty had raced 
across ‘‘ the branch ” to the store, where he was rewai ded 
with a huge package of letters, for which the enormotu 


NEWS AND DISGOVEniES, 


283 


exprcBs charges seemed to him a small price Lcti(T- 
carriage in those days was costly; nobody knew what the? 
rates were ; they varied every week, but anywhere from 
a dollar to five dollars for a single letter — the origin a] 
postage on wliich was ten or twenty cents — was not 
tliouglit an unreasonable charge. The boys mnrmined 
sometimes, when they had lead tlieir infrequent letters 
many times ; but nobody thought of grumbling until the 
first excitement of receiving letters was over, and the 
brisk young express-rider was far away. 

A pleasant excitement reigned in the cabin of the young 
miners while news from home was read and discussed 
The Sugar Grove folks had received their California gold 
with great pride and delight. Tlie neighbors had all been 
in to look at it before it was taken to town and sold. 
Other Lee County people, scattered through California, 
had sent home gold, but the brothers of Barnard and 
Arthur wrote that no such gold as this had ever been 
seen before in those parts. How proud and thankful they 
were ! The mortgage on the farm was now to be ])aid 
off; brother Sam was to have the double-barrelled shot- 
gun (which he had long coveted) before the season for 
prairie-chickens came again. The mother had bought a 
new rocking-chair for father; and there was even some 
talk of having a hired girl to hel]> about the house. 

Arty read and re-read these simple details of the far- 
away home-life with glistening eyes, and then looked out 
on the ragged mining-camp, the turbid creek, the hill- 
sides covered with furze and chaparral, and wondered if 
it were possible that these existed on the same planet that 
held his old home — the tidy Lee County farm. 

Hi, who was now able to get about his work after a 
feeble fashion, grew pensive over his letters, /ind began to 


S84 


lUE BOY EMTO BANTS, 


think that liomo was, after al^, a better place for him than 
this, even though he should not carry a fortune to it, 
Mont encouraged this idea ; and he, too, looked up from 
the finely-written })age8 which had come all the way from 
New England to him, with a bright face and tendernefc^ 
.^1 his eyes. 

Most of all, however, were the boys interested in an ex- 
traordinary letter which Johnny received from a lawyer 
in llichardson. Farmer Stevens had put into this man’s 
hands all the facts about Johnny’s parentage and sup- 
posed wrongs, and ho had ti-aced up the case as far as 
possible. Mr. Stevens wrote to his boys that theie was a 
good prospect of recovering the property which Johnny’s 
faithless guardian had taken ])ossessioii of, but some legal 
documents were needed ; and the lawyer had written to 
Johnny to inform him of all that had been done. This is 
tlie law’yer’s letter, written in a stiff, upright hand : 

Richaiidson, Lee County, Ills., April 9, 18 — . 
Master J. F. Bluebaker. 

Besi'ECTED Sir : I have to communicate to you the following 
facts concerning your case, which I have undertaken at the instance of 
Obadiah L. Stevens, Esq., a worthy citizen of Sugar Grove Township, 
this county, with whose sons, or other relatives, I understand you are 
associated in business. 

To wit : Ophelia Bluebaker, maiden name Jenness, your mother, as 
I now understand the case, was left a widow with one child, name, 
John Francis Bluebaker, about seven years ago. The widow resided 
tear Oregon, Ogle County, this State, where she held legal possession 
of landed property, stock, fixtures, agricultural implements, the sched- 
ule of which now exists in the Probate Court Records of said Ogle 
County, Oregon being the shire town thereof. In due process of nature, 
Mrs. Bluebaker died, leaving her infant sm to the guardianship of her 
brother, one John F. Jenness, a veterinary surgeon, commonly called a 
horse-doctor, of Lick Springs, Vermillion County, this State. 

The property hereinbefore mentioned passed with the boy (who tm, 
i beg leave to say, yourself/ into the custody of sjud Jenness. Fhii 


NEWS AND DTSGOVERIES. 


2S2 


person, being the only surviving relative of Mrs. Bluebaket, your re- 
spected mother, except yourself, seems to have conceived the idea of 
secreting or otherwise fraudulently disposing of the lad — meaning your* 
self. Jenness, commonly called Dr. Jenness, as nearly as I can discover, 
had already managed to convert to his own use and behoof a portion 
of the income of the estate of the late Bluebaker ; and, if the fachr 
which come to me are trustworthy, he employed one William Bunco 
and Ephraim W. Mullet to carry the boy, meaning yourself, to Cali- 
fornia, and “lose” him on the way. For this unlawful service said 
Bunce and Mullet were to receive an outfit for California, and the boy 
was to be provided with a sum of money which would subsist him for a 
time if left in a strange place ; but it may occur to an unprejudiced 
person that the money given to the boy, which was in gold, might also 
have been intended to tempt the ruflians to dealing foully with him. 

These facts are partly derived from the admissions which the said W. 
Bnneehas made to the Messrs. Stevens, Morse, and Fender, in California. 
But they are, with additions, confirmed by the affidavits of one Polly 
Gardner, an inmate and housekeeper in the family of the late Jenness 
1 say the late Jenness, because that person was killed by being thrown 
from his wagon, in February last. Proceedings may be instituted to 
recover for you the unexpended portion of your estate, as soon as you 
choose a legal guardian and have forwarded to your attorney (in which 
capacity I should be pleased to serve you) the necessary papers. I am 
unfamiliar with the laws in your somewhat unsettled country; but 
presume that a power of attorney given to Mr. Stevens, from your 
guardian when chosen, would enable him to institute proceedings to 
recover. 

1 have the honor, sir, to subscribe myself, 

Your ob’t serv’t, 

Cyril II. Duffer, 

Att’y-at-Law. 

P. S.— It may interest you to know that the estate hereinbefore 
referred to is variously estimated by experts, who are neighbors, at 
from twenty-five thousand dollars to thirty thousand dollars value. 

C. H. D. 

“ What a prosy old duffer ! ” cried Toir , when the read 
iiigwas concluded. 

“ Twenty-five or tliiity thousand dollars 1 ” said Hi, juit 
ting his hand painfully to his head. “ That’s a powei of 


386 


THE BOY EMT0RANT8. 


money. More’n I ever hope to take home with 
Thirty thousand I Well, that beats me.” 

‘‘You’re rich before us, Johnny,” said Arty, with an 
lionest glow of satisfaction. “ But,” he added with con- 
cern, you’ll have to leave us and go home to look after 
you r {)roperty.” 

“ Oh, no,” Mont explained. “ He need not go until lio 
gets ready. We can go down to Sacramento, or to the 
new Mayor at Marysville, and have the papers fixed up 
for him. By the way, Johnny, what are you going to 
do about a guardian ?” 

“ A guardeen,” repeated Johnny, with a troubled air. 
“ Who will be my guardeen ? Will you, Arty ? ” 

Everybody laughed, and Mont said : 

“ No, Johnny, you must have a guardian who is twenty- 
one years of age. Arty’s too young, you know.” 

“ Then I’ll take Barney,” said the boy quickly ; and 
appealing to Barnard, he said : “ Will you be my guar- 
deen, Barney ? I must have one, and I don’t know any- 
body else, scarcely, but you.” 

“ Y es,” cried Barney heartily, “ I’ll be your guardian. 
But I shall have to give bonds, I suppose. Shall I Mont?” 

Mont, thus appealed to, thought all that could l)e 
arranged satisfactorily, but he was not sure about the 
bonds ; and Johnny, with a gleam of light in his sober 
face, })ut his hand in Barnard’s, and said : 

“ Isn’t it something like a father-in-law, this guardeen ?” 

The matter was, on the whole, easily arranged. It was 
not necessary to go to Sacramento in ordei to secure the 
necessary legal papers. An accommodating magistrate 
was found nearer home ; and though the macliinery of 
the law was somewhat rude in the region of IlocsierloMTi, 


NEWS AND DISCOVERIES. 287 

it Batlslied the needs of the young n^iners, and the papem 
were made out and sent home. 

“ You can call him ‘ pap,’ I suppose, now,” said Tom, 
rather enviously, when Barnard was declared to be Iho 
lawful guardian of Master John F. Bluebaker. 

“And a young-looking father he is, too!” struck in 
Arty, who was highly amused with this novel turn of 
ahaii-s. “ Call him ‘guardy,’ Johnny; it’s just as good as 
anything else.” 

“ I never called anybody ‘ pap,’ ” said the poor boy. “ I 
never knew anybody to call ‘ father ; ’ but I’ll do just what 
Barney says.” 

“Never mind, my laddie,” said Barnard. “Call me 
\v’hatever you please. But I don’t want any handle to my 
name. ‘ Barney,’ (>r even ‘ Barney Crogan,’ is good enough 
for me, although that young scapegrace of a brother of 
mine did put on the Crogan.” 

“ Now don’t put on any airs, Barney Crogan,” joined in 
Nance, who took part in all the family councils on the 
subject of Johnny’s future pi-ospects. “Crogan you be, 
and Crogan you’ll stay, guardeen or no guardeen, you can 
jest bet yer — I mean, that is, you may be very sure,” and 
Nance coughed violently to hide her confusion. 

“ Hello !” cried Tom, rudely, “if Nance didn’t come 
nigh saying ^you bet yer life,’ just like she used to. Laws 
sakes alive! Miss Nancy Dobbs, how peart you have 
growed ! ” and the boy minced along the cabin floor, 
stepping on the tips of his bare toes and drawing up his 
Bhouldei*s, as if imitating some imaginary tine lady. 

The girl flashed up suddenly, and before Tom knew 
what was going to happen, she gave him such a cuff that 
he tumbled headlong into a corner, where he fell inglori* 
ously into a confused huddle of pots and pans. 


288 


THE DOT EMIGRANTS. 


Come, now ! I say, Nance, jest you strike a feller cJ 
your size, can’t you ? ” And, red with anger, Tom scram- 
bled out of the way and regarded Nance with some defi- 
ance as well as shame. 

The boys laughed at Tom’s discomfiture, but NancOj 
with some mortification in her turn, said : 

I beg pardon, Tom ; I didn’t mean to cuff you. But 
if you give me any of your chin — 1 mean if you sass me 
that way — well, no matter what I mean.” And Nance 
walked off without another word. 

‘‘There, nowl” said Hi, angrily; “you’ve been and 
vexed the best gal in Iloosiertown, and it’ll serve you 
right if she don’t come into this shebang ag’in for a 
week.” 

“ Say the only gal in Iloosiertown and you’ll hit it,” 
replied Tom, surlily. “’Cause you’re sweet on Nance, 
must she go for to fetch me a bat on the side of the 
cabesa like that? Whew I but she’s got a heavy hand, 
though!” And Tom rubbed his head, with a comical 
air of misery. 

“ If you didn’t know I was weakly,” said his brother, 
with a very red face, “you wouldn’t dare to sass me like 
lhat. Take that, impudence ! ” and here Ili’s tin cup flew 
over Tom’s head, that young gentleman having dodged 
just in time. 

But, though Hiram was yet “ weakly,” he was now able 
to work quite regularly in his claim. He had insisted on 
timbering the rude tunnel ; he had a dread of its caving 
In upon him “again,” as he expressed it — for Hi had 
never been able to get rid of the idea that he had oeen 
injured by the falling of the roof of his tunnel. As a 
matter of opinion, he “allowed” that Di. Carsen waa 
right ; but he habitually spoke of his wounds as the rci ult 


NEWS AND DISCO VERTES, 289 

of “ that cave.” lie was afraid the roof would “ drop 

“But tlie Yooi did not drop, Iliram,” said the doctor, 
^ne day when Hiram was discussing the prospects of hii 
claim. 

“ How did my head get caved in, then ? ” demanded IlL 
“ Tliat’s wliat 1 want to know.” 

“ And that’s what I want to know,” replied the doctor, 
axing his keen eyes on Hi’s face. “You are found 
wounded and bleeding in the road, a quarter of a mile 
from the claim. You say you have been caved in upon 
by the tunnel. But the tunnel is not disturbed in the 
least. To this day it is all sound overhead. Nobody 
supposes you would tell a wrong story about your misad- 
venture, Hiram. But how were you injured ? That’s 
what we want to know.” 

Hi had only one story to tell. And if Dr. Carson had 
any theory of his own (and very likely he had), he gave 
no hint of what it was. In his occasional “spells,” as 
Tom impatiently called them, Hi maundered on about his 
jacket being heavy and the day warm ; and he almost 
always pleaded with some imaginary comrade that “it” 
was “ in the other pocket.” 

Mont gently tried at such times to get Hi to explain. 
“ What is in the other pocket, old fellow ? Where is your 
|K)cket ? ” But Hi only struggled painfully, and begged 
“ Don’t hit me ag’in I Oh, don’t ! ” 

It was pitiful. “ I give it up,” said Mont. It was nc 
use trying to draw the secret from him. 

Hi murmured and grumbled a gi*eat deal about his lost 
bag of dust. Nevertheless, he was now meeting with good 
fortune in his claim. He worked at a great disadvantage. 
Tom was not a valuable assistant, and Hi's health was 
13 


290 


TUE BOT EMIGRANTS. 


very feeble indeed. He seemed to have lost much ot liii 
old ambition, though he was covetous and avaricious. 
Sometimes he was obliged to leave off work for several 
days at a time. When he went back to his claim, he felt 
more like sitting down in the mouth of the tunnel and 
musing — while Tom went gunning for gophers — than 
striking witli pick or shovel. 

“ Just my ornery luck,” he said, discon ten tedlj^ one day, 
as he sat complaining to himself by a heap of dirt thrown 
out from the tunnel. lie aimlessly threw the lumps of 
sand and dried earth at a stake which marked a mine]'’s 
‘‘corner” near by. And as he sat tossing the dirt, his 
thoughts were not in the diggings, lie was thinking of 
Nance. 

“ Powerful nice gal I ” muttered Hi to himself. “ Chirky 
and peart, but dreffle sassy. My gosh, what a tongue ! ” — 
and Hi let fly another lump at Gubbins’s corner stake. 
“ Just my ornery luck ! ” 

Then he got half-way up, and, trembling with excite- 
ment, crawled on his hands and knees to the little heap 
of earth which had fallen apart where it struck the stake. 
He snatched the crumbly mass in his hands. It was 
whitish-yellow, sprinkled with small angular bits of pure 
white stone; but all through it were lumps, streaks, and 
jagged wires of gold. 

“Gosh all Friday! Pve struck a quartz lead! I’vo 
struck it! l^^e struck it!” And Hi, in a delirium of 
joy, pressed the precious handful to his lips, as if to 
devour it. 

Tom, who was patiently waiting by the side of a gopher- 
hole on the hill-side above, his pistol ready for the flrst 
apj>earance of its persecuted tenant, looked down and saw 
his brothei-’s extraordinary actions. 


NK IF/b’ AND DISCO VEIUES. 


“ Another spell onto liiiii, I s’posc,” complained loiHj 
and he sauntered down to Ill’s relief. 



“ HI PRESSED THE PRECIOUS HANDFUL TO HIS LIPS.” 


Pwr Hiram looked vacantly at hia brother when ho 
came down, brushed the glittering dust off his face with a 
great effort, and said: Don’t hit me ag’in! It’s in the 
other pocket 1 ” 


2921 


THE BOY EMIQliAHTE 


CUAPTEPw XXVIII. 

DEVELOPMENTS. 

The news tliat a rich quartz lead had been discovered 
on Brash Hill created a treineiidons excitement in Hoosier* 
town. Only a few claims had been located in that region, 
and tliose that were worked were only considered as ])aying 
fairly. Before night every foot of ground along the hill 
was taken np. Very little was then known about quartz- 
mining. Here and there, deposits of decayed yellowish 
quartz rock, richly speckled with gold, had been found. 
These had usually been dug out speedily with pick and 
shovel. The rock was easily pnlvei-ized, and, being 
pounded in an iron mortar, or even between two smooth 
stones, the golden grains in it were thus loosened and se- 
cured. But much of this flint-like quartz was pure white 
and as hard as adamant. The miners looked at it covet- 
ously and passed on to find gold in a more accessible 
condition. 

Irately, however, there had been some experiments at 
quartz-mining with machinery in the southern mines. 
There ran a rumor that fabulous sums had been made by 
crushing the gold-bearing quartz in the Mariposa country, 
where some new kind of machinery had been put up for 
that purpose. Then, too, there came inflaming reports of 
rich quartz mines being found and worked in Tuolumne 
The rock was crushed by “ arastras,” as the Mexicans 
called tbom, a simple invention of old times. The arastra 


DEVELOPMENTS. 


293 


was Bomething Ukc a huge grindstone, rcvc^Wng on an 
axis, one end of which was made fast to an upright turn- 
ing-post in tlio centi*e of a circle, and the other end was 
moved around by mules or cattle. The great stone, re* 
voh ing over the half broken quartz which was laid in » 
large circular trough, crushed all before it. Powdered 
quartz and free gold were gathered up in a wet paste, and 
the precious stuff was then separated from the refuse. 

Very soon, quartz-mining became “ all the rage,” and 
everybody wanted to try it. The rude mortar and arastra 
served to extract only the larger particles of gold ; 
probably, more was wasted than was saved. The miners, 
in their eagerness to crack open the rocky ledges, snatch 
the large pieces of gold and go away, threw aside every- 
thing that did not promise them an immediate return. 

The fame of the Marijiosa and Tuolumne quartz ledges 
had reached lloosiertown and Prush Ilili diggings. Some 
restless prospectors had dug down below the surface where 
they had found lumps of white rock sticking up through 
the soil, like a coat-sleeve out at the elbow. But nobody 
had found gold-bearing (piartz ; it was thouglit an unlikely 
thing that it should exist here. And when Hi’s discovery 
Wiis announced, everybody said at once that they “ always 
knew there was quartz in that hill.” In Hi’s little tunnel, 
now famous, ho found a thin vein of rock just cropping 
bove the irregular floor of the chamber. It was a loose, 
friable sort of roek, full of cracks and holes, easily scraped 
off with a strong shovel, yellowish-white and gray in color, 
and mottled with gold. Hi had shovelled up some of this 
loose rock, which soon became covered with dirt, and was 
dumped out with what was thought to be worthless stuff 
When Hi accidently cracked open one of these rich liinipa 
of golden rock, it flashed on him that he had at last 


204 


IHE DOT EMIGRANTS, 


found what the whole country was looking for — a quarti 
lead. 

“ A fool for luck,” said some of the Iloosiertown minera 
when they found that Hi had blundered on a mine of 
gold. Then they rushed out to Brush Hill and covered it 
over with stakes and notices of claims. Men who were 
making fortunes in the river diggings, or in the ravine 
claims, dropped everything else and seized upon quartz- 
mining as affording the very shortest road to riches. It 
was early in the forenoon when Hi, weak and overcome 
by his sudden discovery, had fallen in a lit. Tom, with 
great amazement, had wiped the golden dust and dirt 
from his brother’s face, and had dragged him into the cool 
sliadow of the tminel, where he gradually recovered. 
It was noon when Hiram, feverish and trembling, was 
ai)le to examine his vein of quartz and gold, and tell his 
nearest neighbors of his luck. Before the sun went down 
tliat night, Brush Hill was looked upon as a bank on which 
hundreds of men were to present checks in the shape of 
picks and shovels, and draw gold in any quantity. 

Hiram was the hero of the hour. He boi-e his fame 
with indifference, and announced his readiness to sell out 
jHiid go back to the States. Everybody wanted to buy. 
Nobody was willing to say what the claim was worth. 
S<une men thought it ought to bring one hundred thousand 
dollars. There were those who said that capitalists at the 
Bay, as San Francisco was called, would jump at a chance 
to give two millions f(U* it. 

“ Two millions I ” whispered Hi to himself. “What & 
In^ap of money I Is there so much in this yore world ? ” 

Nevertheless, nobody offered to buy the mine at any 
speciliod price, and Hi and Tom went on slowly digg ’uig 
in it. 


DEVELOPMENTS, 


295 


Ono Sunday morning, when Hoosiertown was given up 
to the cleaning, cooking, mending, and letter-writing, with 
which that day was always occupied in the mines, a-rcugh- 
oearded, red shirted, booted miner rode down the divide 
just south of Table Mountain, and made his way into 
Hoosiertown. Stopping at the express office, a log hut of 
noble dimensions, he inquired for “ the boys from Crow- 
bait, whosumdever they might be.” 

He was directed to the cabin where Mont, Barnard, Hi, 
and the three boys were gathered about the door. AVith- 
out wasting words on the loungers at the express oflice, 
he cantered across the branch, dismounted, and saluted 
the party with, “Howdy? Nice day.” 

Seating himself on Arty’s chopping-block, he opened 
bis ei rand. 

“ Which of you fellers is Hi Fender? ” 

“ That’s my name,” answered Hi. 

“ How’s yer head ? ” he asked, with a curious grin. 
“ I’m from Cherokee Flat, t’other side of the divide.” 

“Tolerable-like,” said Hi. “dad to see ye. My 
head’s improvin’, thank ye. How’s yerself ?” 

“ It’s just like this,” said the stranger, in a queer and 
inconsequent way. “We caught a feller a-robbin’ Ken- 
tucky Bob’s sluice, over to Cherokee, .ast night. Bob let 
drive at him and shot him in the leg — winged him, so to 
6|K3ak. Dark night, yer see, or Bob ’d done better. Any- 
how, the thief couldn’t get away, and we boys turned out 
and tied him up for the night. This mornim he war 
tried. Do yer f oiler me ? ” 

His listeners assured liim that they understood him, and 
he went on. 

“ When he was gone through with, we lighted on a bag 
of dust stowed away in his traps. Look yar,” and tha 


296 


THE BOY EMIGRANTS, 


man opened a buckskin bag and poured into the crowa 
of his hat a handful of coarse gold ‘‘ This yar,” he said 
parting some grains of light-colored yellow metal from the 
other, ‘‘is Cherokee gold. All on cur side of the divide, 
leastways as fur as we’ve prospected, is like that thar. 
This yar,” — and here his stumpy finger poked out some 
coarser bits of dark reddish gold,-— “this yar came from 
your side of Table Mountain. Brush Hill gold, bein’ a 
gold-sliarp, I mought say.” 

Nobody replied. 

“Now yer see that when we went through this yar 
galoot, we found his buckskin full of all sorts and kinds. 
Sure as shootin’ he had been playin’ it low down on any 
number of honest miners. Not bein’ an honest miner 
himself, he had bin goin’ for everything in sight on both 
sides of Table Mount’in. D’yer foller my meanin ? ” 

Mont, rather impatiently, said that they did, and would 
like the rest of his story. 

“ /V^-cisely,” said the inan,“ and jest what I was coinin’ 
to when you interrupted me. Seein’ as how this chap 
didn’t hev long to live, we gave him warnin’ to make a 
clean breast of it, which he did. He hadn’t sold no dust, 
but had packed it away in holes and crevices, where we 
found most of it. This yar dark gold, from the south of 
the divide, he allowed was some out of a lot that he got 
away with belongin’ to a chap by the name of Fender, 
Yar it is writ out, yer see, by the clerk of the meetiu’. 
‘ Iliinm Fender, which is you, accordin’ to ’pcarances ” — 
and the man saluted Hi, with gravity. 

Hiram looked at him painfully and with a troubled ex- 
pression, and said : 

“ I allow he must have found my bag when J dropped, 
tlie day 1 was caved in on.” 


DE VEL OP MEN T& 


29? 


"Nary time, strannger. He confessed that he laid for 
you bctter’n four days, a-waitin’ fur you to get where he 
could knock you over and go fur yer buckskin. One day, 
he war on the nigh side of Table Mount’in as yer went 
down the trail from yer claim. Yer slouched along right 
under whar he war, leastways so he allowed to us. Then 
lie rocked yer. The first dornick took yer plum’ on the 
cabesa, and yer dropped in yer tracks. He let fiy another 
at yer, climbed down the bluff, went through yer clothes, 
nipped yer buckskin, and lit out. Leastways, so he let 
cn to ns at the meetin’.” 

“ Good Heavens 1 ” said Mont, “ this is an amazing 

etorj^ 1 ” 

Arthur, whose eyes had opened wider and wider while 
the story was being told, exclaimed : 

“ Do you know this man’s name ? ” 

“ Well, I disremember. Usual he war called Lame 
Dili, but I allow it war some such name as Bunch.” 

“ Bunce I ” cried the boys. 

“ You’ve hit it. Bunce war his name.” 

“ Was his name ? ” said Barnard. You don’t mean — ” 

“ Pr^-cisely. Wliat little he had to say, he said 
a-standin’ on a wagon-box, with a rope around his neck, 
and it over a convenient sycamore handy by. The boys 
war a buryin’ of him when I left.” 

“ Lynched ? ” said the boys with horror. 

Lynched it war. But everything reg’lar. He couldn’t 
hev asked for no sq’arer game. Chairman, clerk, rope- 
committee, and everything accordin’ to rule. Oh, we’re 
a law-abidin’ lot on our side of the divide. 

This was slightly sarcastic, for there had been some 
scandalous irregularities reported of the Hoosiertown 
people. 


13 * 


298 


THE BOT EMIGRANTS. 


Law-abidiii’ people and travel on the sq^ar’. Youi 
friend Bunch went oflE like a lamb.” 

‘‘ Did he really say that he dropped rocks on my head ? ” 
asked Hi, who could not believe this story. 

“ Sartin, sartin. Didn’t yer feel ’em ? ” 

“ No,” said Mont. “ Hi has never had a clear idea ol 
what happened. The first blow made him insensible, 
probably, and his brain was so affected by the hurt that he 
had a notion that he had been caved on while in the tun- 
nel. He never knew what hurt him.” 

“ Sho, now ! ” 

‘‘ It is a very strange case. Did Bunce say how Hi 
behaved when he was robbed of his bag of dust? ” 

“ 1 disremember pertickler. But he did say that while 
he war a-goin’ through yer pardner thar, that he sorter 
freshened up a bit, and sung out to Bunch, so he did, and 
says, ‘ Don’t hit me ag’in ; it’s in the other pocket ’ — 
meanin’ the dust, yer see. With that. Bunch he clips 
him another, which finishes liim, he allowed. Then he 
grabs the buckskin, does Bunch, and breaks for tall 
timber.” 

“ The story is complete. Hi, my boy,” added Barney. 

1 guess Dr. Carson had it all figured out, except as to 
the robber. You know Arty saw Bunce from the hill.” 

“ I’m clean beat, and don’t know anything about it,” 
said Hiram, discontentedly. And he sat back from the 
group with the air of one who has no further interest in a 
discussic n. 

“ And yar,” said the stranger, producing an empty 
buckskin bag, “ yar is a bag that we allowed belonged 
over yar. Hit’s got ‘ Bostons ’ onto it, and you chape 1 ai] 
from thereaway, they say.” 


DEVELOPMENin 299 

My bag 1 exclaimed Arty. I marked that on there 
and gave the bag to Hi. Was there anything in it ? ” 

‘‘No,” said the man. “Hit war stowed inside of aii 
other buckskin. Both on ’em war buried near a lone 
pine, where we found ’em ’cordin’ to directions.” 

It was then explained that the “ meetiii’ ” at Cherokee 
had directed this envoy to leave with Hiram Fender the 
gold which had been sent over. It belonged to nobody at 
Cherokee. It was about equal in weight to the darker 
gold found among Bunco’s deposits. The rest had been 
confiscated, by popular decree, for the relief of a distressed 
miner who was laid up with the rheumatism. 

“ One more question before you go,” said Mont. Did 
Bunco confess any other crimes before he was — hanged?” 

“ Heaps, heaps on ’em,” replied the man. “ But none 
that I set much by. Except he denied that he stole 
Columbus’s money at Loup Fork, as one of our fellers 
said he did. It war his pardner, Eph Mullet, that did 
that. Leastways, so Lame Bill allowed. Hit don’t mat- 
ter now, anyhow.” 

So saying, he swung himself into his saddle, touched 
his horse’s flank, clattered over the branch, down the 
trail, and disappeared in the thickets which covered the 
divide. 

The boys looked at each other with a feeling of awe. 
Bill Bunce had at last met with his fate. He would lie 
and steal no more. With his lawless taking off had come 
tlie explanation of Hi’s mysterious disaster. Here was 
conclusive proof that Hi had been living under a strange 
delusion. Indeed, he was still deluded. His comradee 
were satisfied that he had been waylaid, cruelly wounded, 
and robbed by Bunce. Arty and Johnny had seen the 
crime from the hill, though they had not seen Hiram in 


300 


THE HOT EMIO RANTS. 


the road below. Arty went over the whole story again, 
point by point. 

Hi only said: ^‘Boys, it gets me. I give it up. I 
s’ pose you’re right But I allow I shall never kiow how 
it happened.” 


BECKONING UP THE GAINS. 


301 


CHAPTEE XXIX. 

RECKONING UP THE GAINS. 

Hi’s -uck ” did not seem to desert him, although no- 
body made a distinct oflFer to buy his quartz lead. There 
was much talk about capitalists coming up from the Bay 
in search of just such investments as this. Somehow, they 
never came, and Hi went on with his work, his comrades 
occasionally giving him a helping hand. A week had 
passed since his great discovery, and the people who had 
taken up claims on Brush Hill were becoming discon- 
tented with their failure to “ strike it rich.” Hi steadily 
took out gold-bearing quartz in paying quantities ; the 
gold was pounded out in a big iron mortar, brought at 
great expense from San Francisco. 

One day Tom was industriously picking away at the 
loose vein of rock inside the tunnel, when he uttered a 
wild shriek, which made Hi drop his basket nervously and 
hurry to the spot. Tom had cleft off a thin layer of rock 
which slanted downward beneath the surface. About six 
inches below this was another similar layer, and between 
these two, as far as uncovered, was a reddish-gray deposit 
of rotten rock, veined and mottled through and through 
-^ith virgin gold. It was nearly one-half gold, glittering, 
sparkling, and in all sorts of shapes. Some of it was like 
ferns, in long and leafy sprays; some was like sheets 
of foil, crumpled and tumbled in the hand ; and some 
was in thick splinters, as if it had been hammered into 


302 


THE BOY EMIO RANTS, 


tlie crevi(je8 of the rock ages ago, before these quartz crya 
tals had begun to decay. 

Ili uttered a howl of delight, and seized the pick from 
Tom’s unwilling hand. In a moment, he had laid bare 
the vein, which did not extend quite acrc^s the tunneL 
Trembling with eagerness, he held the candle down to the 
shining mass, and said : Millions ! millions ! millions ! ” 

‘‘ And I struck it,” added Tom, proudly. 

So you did. Tommy, my boy,” said Hi, fondly. So 
you did, and a right peart striker you be. You shall have 
a specimen out of this fora buzzum-pin, so you shall; 
and we’ll go back to Sugar Grove and hold up our heads 
with them proud Gashwilej-s and Perkinses and all the 
rest.” 

And Hi lovingly laid a golden leaf in his hands and 
doubled it up, as if in mere wantonness of wealth. It 
was a wonderful thing to be able to handle one’s own 
gold like that — just as if it were sheets of common tin. 

‘‘Now, you Tom, just keep your mouth shot about this. 
Don’t let it get around. We’ll have the whole camp down 
on us if ye do.” 

“What!” cried Tom, opening his eyes very wide. 
“ Not tell Mont and the boys ? ” 

“ Sartinly not ! sartinly not ! ” replied his brother, and 
his face grew haggard and anxious as he regarded the 
glittering vein. “ Nothin’ to nobody. D’ye hear that ? ” 

“Yes, I hear,” said Tom, whe was bursting to rush out 
and tell the news. 

That night Hi went staggering home with the proceeds 
of his day’s work, mingled with bits of broken quartz 
with gold sticking to them. 

“ What luck to-day ? ” asked Doctor Carson, checking 
bifi horse as he rode past the two brothers. 


RECKONING UP THE GAINS, 


303 


Oh, just ornery, just ornery. Doctor. Times is drelfle 
mixed up, here,” answered Hi, with something like a 
whine. 

Golly 1 what a whopper I” cried Tom, as the doctor 
rode off with a pleasant word and smile for the boys. 

‘‘ Keep yer head shet, will yer, young one ? You are 
the talkinest creature I ever came acrost. Didn’t I say 
that things was mixed ? Ain’t that gettin’ around the 
truth witJiout strainin’ it ? ” 

But Hi felt guilty ; and when he remembered how Dr. 
Carson had guessed out the whole truth about the affaii 
of Bunce, he was afraid that he might somehow divine the 
golden secret of the mine. 

When Hi and Tom reached the cabin, they tound the 
rest of the party in great excitement. Arty had that day 
found in the claim two nuggets, or chispas, worth at least 
five hundred dollars each. 

“Aren’t they beauties, Hi?” asked Johnny; and ho 
rolled the pc‘tatoe-shaped lumps over and over on the sup- 
per-table. 

“ Hang it all, boys,” said Hi, with a sudden burst of can- 
dor. “ 1 didn’t mean to tell. But just look at this yore.” 
And he poured out the glittering contents of his sack. 

“ There now ! ” exclaimed Tom. “ You’ve been and 
gone and told, aiid 1 kept shut about it ! ” 

“ Didn’t mean to tell ? ” said Mont, with a look of sur- 
prise. “ You don’t mean to say that you would keep tlie 
good news from us, Hi ? ” 

Hi blushed and explained that he wanted to keep the 
news of his rich strike from the rest of tlie camp. He 
could not keep it from the boys when he saw how frank 
they w^ere. But it was all out now. Would the boys say 
nothing about it for the present 


304 


THE BOY 3MIO RANTS. 


Tliere was no need. The very next day, Hi, scooping 
out the contents of the rift of rock in which his treasure 
lay, suddenly struck his pick against a hard wall. It was 
the virgin quartz — pure, white, adamantine, and vithout 
B flaw or seam. In this shallow fissure the decayed gold- 
bearing quartz had been shut up for ages. A day’s work 
bad been suflicient to scrape it all out ; and the pocket 
was empty. 

Hi nervously plied his pick and shovel in all directions. 
For hours he dug and scratched at the rock, above, below, 
to the left and to the right. In vain ; only barren quartz 
met him on all sides. Hi wiped his heated head and 
shoulders and sat down to rest, at last. 

There’s no use talkin’, Tom. This yere claim’s played 
out. I’m goin’ home.” 

And, in spite of Tom’s remonstrances, Hiram deliber- 
ately shouldered his bag of ore and mining-tools, and set 
his face towards the tunnel’s mouth. Ueaching the open 
air, he blew out his candle, laid it carefully away in a 
crevice of rock, as if he was going away for the night. 
But, turning about, he said : 

‘‘G<x)d-by, old tunnel. You’ve given me sorrer, and 
you’ve given me gold. We part friends. I’m bound for 
the States I ” 

“ To the States 1 ” re-echoed the boys in grand chorus, 
when Hiram, that night, announced his sudden determi- 
nation. 

“ Yes. I’ve made my pile, you see. Not millions, nor 
even hundred thousands, but more’n I ever thought for 
when I started. It don’t pay, this livin’ in a hole in the 
ground.” 

^^Well, I must say,” said Barney, with deliberation, 
^ this is a new freak for you. What has happened tc 


RKGKONINQ UP THE OAINS, 305 

change your mind about making that million that you 
tJiought you had struck I ” 

‘‘ Oh, I say, I wonder if it isn’t because Nance and hei 
folks are going home ? ” broke in little Johnny, with great 
simplicity. 

“ Yer talk too much, youngster,” interrupted Hi, wrath* 
fully ; but he blushed red, nevertheless. 

‘‘We may as well all go together,” said Arty. “ W^’ve 
sent homo five thousand dollars, all told. Haven’t we got 
as much more, share and share alike, Barney Grogan ? ' 

They took account of stock, went over all their gains, 
and found that they would have, after selling their claim, 
thirty thousand dollars. This was a fortune to the boys. 
Divided, it gave Barney and Arthur fifteen thousand 
dollars between them, and the same to Mont and his little 
partner. 

Hi and his brother, notwithstanding their occasional 
“ spurts of luck,” had not accumulated quite that total 
sum. Hi’s sickness had disabled him, various expenses 
had eaten into the profits, and the gold never turned out 
to be so much in value as it looked. 

The boys decided to go home. 


306 


TEE BOY EMIGRANT& 


CHAPTEK XXX. 

HOMEWARD BOUND. 

People moved suddenly in tnose days. A miner would 
go to his cabin at night, grimy with a day’s work, and 
leaving his pick and shovel in his claim, next day, clad 
in a “ biled ” (or white) shirt, and uncomfortable in “ store 
clothes,” he would wave a farewell from the top of the 
stage, or from the back of his mule, as he took his way to 
Sacramento, San Francisco, and the States. 

Early in September, Jehiel Bush, seedy but cheery, 
dropped his mining kit in front of the Hoosiertown ex- 
press oflSce, and said to a noisy party of card-players 
within : 

“ Can any of this gay and garrulous crowd tell a passing 
stranger where to find the Boston Boys? ” 

“ Reckon you’ll find ’em down about the Bay scmewhar, 
strannger. It’s your deal, Kaintuck,” and the tr an went 
on with his play. 

“ Sho 1 you don’t tell me so I Gone to the Bay 1 Made 
their pile ? ” 

“ They’ve made right smart, I hear,” explained one of 
the lounging group. ‘‘Ye see, Nance she went witli the 
old man Dobbs. Then the feller that struck it up cn 
Brush Hill, he went. Then that smart Boston chap, he 
went, and tlie whole kit and caboodle of ’em went.” 

“To the States ?” said Bush, aghast. 

“ That’s the size of it, strannger.” 



STARTING HOMEWARD 









HOMEWAUn BOUND, 


307 


Bush looked down dejectedly, and murmured: ‘‘And 
I’m clean busted ! Oh, it gets 'em I it gets ’em ! One gal 
like that can clear out a hull camp.” Sc saying, he 
shouldered his pack and moved on. 

In tliose days tliere were steamers plying between San 
F raiicisco and Panama, laden with homeward-bound gold 
hunters. Now and then there was a fearful disaster, and 
hundreds of men, with their faces turned towards home, 
sunk in the waters. In a little space, a ship-load of hope- 
fulness, life, manhood, and treasure was swallowed in the 
sea. But, safely creeping down the coast, across the hot 
and gorgeous isthmus of Panama, and up the boisterous 
Atlantic, went our young adventurers. 

It was a happy day when the boys, so lately from the 
rough wilds of California, found themselves in the glitter 
and excitement of New York. The streets seemed foreign 
to them, and the great stores were almost awful in their 
iTiagnilicence. But their thoughts ran out to the West, 
where father, mother, brothers and sisters waited for 
them, day by day. It was hard parting with Mont; 
but he manfully insisted that it was only for a time. 
Tliey should meet again, and soon. He had lost his 
taste for city life; he would go out West, and settle 
down in Lee County, by and by. So he sped home to 
Ills mother. 

In the houses of Stevens and Fender, at Sugar Grove, 
■Jiere was great rejoicing when the fortunate young gold- 
eeekers, like seamen from the waters, came home in tri- 
umph. Farmer Stevens and Oliver had gone into town 
with their new farm-wagon, and, meeting the wanderers 
at the stage, had brought them out, bag and baggage, 
and with great acclaim, Arty standing up with a flag 
handkerchief on a ramrod, as the party drove up the 


308 


THE BOY EMIG HANTS. 


farm-ruad. It was like the last act in a play, when ail 
is happiness, reunion, and congratulation. The boys 
who had gone out with slender equipment, followed by 
hopes and fears, prayers and forebodings, had come 
again, rejoicing and bringing their golden sheaves with 
them. 

‘‘ And this is little Johnny ? ” said the good mother, 
when Barney and Arty had been welcomed again and 
again. 

Yes, mother,” broke in Arthur. “ And he shall never 
go away, shall he? Say that’s so, quick, because you 
know,” and the lad dropped his voice, he’s got no homo 
unless it is with us.” 

‘‘Johnny shall stay with my boys ever and always, if he 
likes,” said the mother. 

Barnard, with a little air of authority, added: “I’m 
Johnny’s guardian, and he shall stay with me.” 

“ My son I ” said the home-mother, her kindly arm 
about the orphan’s shoulder. The lad’s blue eyes were 
moist as he kissed his new mother. He was at home at 
last. 

How Johnny came into his own again, and how he sent 
back to Mont all that was left of his own share of the 
gold, when he was once more settled — these and other 
things can be left to the imagination of the dear young 
folks who have followed the varying fortunes of the Boy 
Emigrants. 

Brosperity came back to the Grove from the Golden 
Land. Barney, Arty, and Johnny told their adventures 
over and over again in the comfortal)le home of the Ste- 
vens family, and to willing ears. 

Old man Fender thought that Hi had “missed it” by 
leaving hie mining partners and striking out for himself. 


HOMEWARD BOUND, 


309 


If Hi had not been ignorant, he said, he would have boeu 
more patient and more successful. So, as he leans over 
his fence-rail, smoking his pipe at eventide, he looks at 
tlie tidy Stevens farm, and mutters : 

“ Tell yer what — eddication’s a great thing I ” 


Thb £in>. 



• I 







vr. 1 • !-, 


; 


V 


/ • 





JUL *6 1904 


r -v V- V 


r “ - x:f\ 









♦’ ‘ 


\ \ 


4 








/, . 


'■-^j^m"'C^^^^-:- . r- : 


■■ ?:%; ^ '• 
?ii. ' ^"v 



■ 


■c^ 


r-V '•'■ 

. ' ^ ■ K‘ *• 


^ f 


•. » f 
r 


, ., , M?)^f '■^r''?':.v;-^^s-5[^ ' 

3 ^*,'' * •.• »» *• ; • • • y-. • .►s • 

• I' % - T ■ ^ *v f . ' 


/ 




•'i» 

* 

*4 


■ *> 


-' • r . ■ J ••■ .,•.“ • ' • i- 

.-;.?■ .-.* 3 ^, ■ •> ^-y- .i- , ' 

; .. '■ - •y<t^f \. ' , • . 


» •■ - 


si Ui "- ■ 


• *T 


• \ 


S' f 




:' a' - V'; 


>/. 

• ^ .• c • ^‘*L ’ ■ rT?r3(4*Sl 

'S- .. • •''. > • • 

•'.' ’> '*■■■ a.vV * 4 ' 5 '-J« 

4 • ■- I '* • 

; ^ *►• -: .' i 


V * 


; ^ 


’ *Ji 


^•- T 
*• 


■•.I 
- \ 


I 


. ♦• ’ ' 


rifci ^ : 

'’ .. > oV \ 

•• -Vf >> - i 

, V*. .j -■‘■* 7^3 - 






-Vi. f . . ^ * 

'jjv'. iuii 


, I T- . • • 

I 


f; .f. i. .■ 1 ■ 

m- ' '- ■• 


N 


^ 'V M ^ • • 

•v-rVV , *' V 

^S \.ti '<r ^ 


A/'-* 





'1 


, ’ • - ’ •, •^ <'T- 

, I . fc V ■ ■ *■' -^ ' 

■.:s^,.^-;.;v' v 

•^V* / *' . •%/ •; 

' '. ■• .j. .•. v*i . V*. 

* ■ '■ ••'. , .• • * * 


'A' 

V 4 •• ■■’^^^. ’ '-'o 


■V; 

. ‘.-c f 


•sA ,i-yv ■ 





■B^Hl a'* . • 

•5 * ‘ V* ‘ 't ‘J ; *r \K^ 

•* :v: ; •-^' . . ^ 






v' 


. . . . f ^ .-■ ,r 

Vji : > .■ ^ .'-'A.. %'• .^. - ■ - :.. 

if' 


V ' 

• • < • ‘"r V 


fci » * *1 • 

•:■ 'i »■• 

; Aif' '^’•"'Ur: - 


• VV"* >.. ^ 

'LiZ\^''' -- ■ - "'I'V- ' 


A** 


• ’ . .n 

mii./ . 'i 



I •■ — ' « I . (**•,.'■< 

, V" 








